Dog knee brace acl

My Family's Sacred Trust: Bella and Barney

2023.06.06 17:07 RHGOtakuxxx My Family's Sacred Trust: Bella and Barney

TW/Animal Abuse

After seven years, I was still disgusted. I waited for my dad to call me to do the dreaded chore. I sighed, as I lay in bed and halfheartedly played with my phone. He was preparing a concoction that had such vile ingredients it was done in the basement. On the floor of my bedroom, Bella and Barney, our Australian Sheep Dogs stretched out, panting softly.
A text message interrupted my scrolling.
It’s ready, meet me in the kitchen.
I pocketed my phone and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Bella and Barney got up and followed me downstairs. I entered the kitchen where my father waited for me, his mask pulled down below his chin, big orange safety gloves on his hands, holding a large bottle used to feed young livestock. He reached out and handed it to me. I took it, my face closed and resigned. He snorted at my expression.
“It’s almost time,” he said. “Don’t look so glum.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “But only until the next cycle starts.”
I walked to the door, and a sudden thought made me stop. I turned to look at my dad, who was removing his mask and gloves and putting them in the sink.
“Couldn’t we find a way to end it?” I asked.
“Audrey,” he replied. “I think if there was a way to make it stop for good, they would have done it. This is the only way.”
I nodded, the end of my mouth quirking in a half smile. I should have expected that answer, but it was hard to accept it. This will always be my life. Someday it will be my sole responsibility. I walked out into the cool September night, Bella and Barney padding softly behind me. We approached the barn, and I opened the door. There was the sound of a soft and sickly bleat. I stepped inside, but my faithful dogs waited outside. Even they were disturbed.
I flicked on a light and went to the stall where the unnerving sound came from. I opened the door, and approached the animal, my stomach queasy. The lamb looked bloated, its curly coat giving off a greenish sheen. Its eyes were nearly colorless, and it struggled to stay on its feet. I approached the animal, and put one arm around its head, steadying it. Then I took the bottle of formula and shoved it into the animal’s mouth. It was too weak to struggle as I made sure it drank every drop.
When I was finished and closed the door to the barn, the dogs fell into step with me. We were halfway back to the house, when they both stopped, looking past the fields of our farm towards the forest edge. They started growling, a low vibration that made me halt in my tracks. I looked out, towards the forbidding darkness of the forest. I could not see anything in its inky depths. But my stomach was gripped with fear.
“Bella, Barney,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Hackles raised, they started snarling and then barking furiously they ran off towards the forest. I stood there, mouth agape for a few minutes and watched them disappear. I felt a thrill of fear go through me. They had never acted like this before; they were gentle herders of our flock of sheep. I tried in vain to call them back, then gave up and went back to the house, my footsteps an echo of trepidation.
“Dad!” I cried as the door slammed behind me. “Bella and Barney – they ran after something in the forest!”
My father got up from where he sat reading in the living room and came over to me, mouth set in a firm line.
“The forest?” He said, “It’s not time….we are on schedule. Maybe it was a rabbit or something.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I said in exasperation, my hand to my head. “They were growling, it’s like they were afraid of something – but then they just ran off barking. I could not get them to come back!”
My father went outside and scanned the area. He tried calling them, moving further away from the house. I waited and watched, wringing my hands, and biting my lower lip. Our dogs never ventured into the forest; I believe they could feel the malevolence of the place in there that was our family’s responsibility to keep at bay for over a hundred years. What if….my stomach clenched as my mind spun with horrible thoughts. After twenty minutes my father returned.
“What will we do?” I spoke. “What if…the thing got them.”
“Maybe they saw a coyote,” my dad replied. “Don’t worry, they will come back.”
He walked up to me, and gently tilted my face up to look at him. Eyes wide he gave me a smile of encouragement. I am sure I did not look convinced. He took me in a hug, and the side of my face pressed into his shoulder. His flannel shirt smelled faintly of pine and mint, and his body warmth was soothing. Then he let me go.
“Go get some sleep,” he said. “We can go out in the morning and look for them if they don’t come back. I’ll stay up a few more hours.”
I nodded, heading for the stairs, and glanced out the door briefly as I passed it. Bella and Barney always slept on the floor near my bed, for nine years out of my seventeen. I have no siblings, and my mother died when I was eight. I climbed into bed, feeling the emptiness in my room without them with me. I slept fitfully, pulling the blankets tighter around me as fearful dreams of my dogs being torn apart by the malevolence in the forest plagued me.
I woke in the morning with the sheets all twisted around me. I was groggily untangling myself when I heard scratching on the screen door downstairs. I stumbled quickly out of bed and pounded down the stairs. Opening the door, Bella and Barney came in, tails wagging. They licked my hands, as I felt all my muscles release from pent up tension, my insides trembling from relief. They went to the kitchen and drank from their water bowls then padded into the living room and flopped down on the rug in front of the fireplace. They put their heads down, and closed their eyes, breathing big, exhausted sighs.
My father walked into the kitchen and smiled when he saw our dogs snoring softly.
“See?” My father said. “I told you they would be back. The sheep will be fine in the paddock today. You can let them out with Bella and Barney when you get back from school.”
While I was getting ready, my father made breakfast. After we ate, he drove me to the school bus stop, which was five miles away from our remote farm. I waived goodbye to him as he headed to the city for his construction job.
“Hey Audrey,” said a lanky boy, with a mop of curly brown hair as he walked up to wait with me.
“Hey Martin,” I replied.
He looked at me intently for a moment. I felt my face heat up.
“Do I look that awful?”
Martin shrugged. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”
I bopped him on the shoulder. “I had a bad night sleep.”
The bus pulled up with a squeak and a huff, and we got in.
During fourth period English, I was busy writing an essay when the vice principal walked in and whispered to my teacher. I noticed it vaguely, trying to finish my work. Then he was standing at my desk. This felt weird…
“Audrey, can you come with me back to the office?” the vice principal said.
I looked up, glanced over at my teacher whose face looked pale and concerned. She nodded and waived her hand for me to go.
“Sure,” I said.
We walked into his office, and he gestured for me to take a seat in front of his desk.
“Your father’s jobsite called us,” he said gravely. “There’s been an accident…”
A shock went through me, and I grabbed the chair’s armrests as I felt my body tremble and bile rise in my throat.
“Is he okay?” I gasped.
“He’s been transported to the hospital,” the vice principal said, his face grave. “I talked to your teachers. Get your things we called an Uber to take you to him.”
I nodded, my head feeling light, and nausea rising. I tried to stand up, but lost my balance. The vice principal reached across the desk and steadied me. I looked up at him gratefully and left the room to go to my locker. The bell rang, and kids started to nosily fill the hallways. In a daze, I bumped into someone.
“Watch out there, Audrey!” said Martin as my shoulder met his chest.
I stumbled backwards, and he gently grabbed my arms so I would not fall. “Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“M-my father…” I stammered. “He’s been in an accident at work. I have to go to the hospital.”
Martin’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly opening. Then his eyebrows lowered in concern.
“Oh god, I am so sorry,” he said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes,” I said, as I remembered my dogs. “Can you ride your bike over to my house after school? I will give you the house key. Please let Bella and Barney out, they have been in all day.”
He nodded, then followed me to my locker. I got my backpack and fished out the key. He took it from me and gave me a quick hug. I felt the contact settle my fluttering heart a bit. Then I made my way to the front steps of the school. A few minutes later I was in the backseat of an Uber, on my way to the hospital. The ride felt surreal, and the beating of my heart filled my ears. I could not feel the passage of time, it felt interminable as my head filled with fearful thoughts.
Finally, the Uber stopped, in front of the large grey and white, sprawling complex of Memorial Hospital. I got out and went inside to the front desk.
“I’m here to see Leonard Klein,” I told the woman who looked up to me from her computer.
“And you are?” she said.
“Audrey Klein, his daughter.”
She gave me a sign-in sheet and started typing on her computer. “He’s in ICU, 3rd floor.”
I gulped, a tremor going through me. Then I nodded and headed to the elevator.
On the 3rd floor, a nurse brought me over to a curtained off area. “He’s stable for now,” she said. “But he needs to rest.”
The curtain swished open, and I gasped, tears clouding my vision at what I saw. My dad lay in the hospital bed, his right leg and arm in a cast. His head was swaddled in heavy bandages, and his face was puffy and purple.
“Dad, I’m here,” I said, the words coming out with a squeak.
His eyes cracked open and darted over to where I stood. I walked over to him and rested my hand on the arm without the cast.
“Audrey,” he whispered. “I need to tell you something important.”
“Can it wait?” I said. “Maybe you should not be talking, the nurse said you need to rest.”
“No, it can’t,” he said softly. “Get my keys from my jacket pocket, I think they left my clothes here somewhere.”
My eyes darted quickly around the curtained off space, and found his clothes on a chair, his beige jacket folded on top. I grabbed his ring of keys in a side pocket and brought them over to him.
“You see the silver key stamped with an S?” he said.
I fumbled with the keys in my hands, until I found the one matching his description. I showed it to him.
“Yes, that’s the one,” he said. “Take it with you. There is a safe in the back of my bedroom closet, if anything happens to me it is important that you open it. Everything important is in there.”
“Okay,” I replied. “But I won’t have to open it – you will be alright!” I could not in a million years bring myself to accept otherwise. But he did not answer, his eyes closed, and his breathing deepened.
“Dad!” I cried.
The nurse poked her head in. “He’s on a lot of painkillers,” she said. “They knock people out. Time to let him rest.”
I nodded, my lower lip trembling, and wiped the tear that fell from my left eye with the back of my hand. I made my way down to the front desk, where I made sure they had my cell number and they said they would call me with updates on his condition. Then I ordered an Uber to take me home.
On the ride back, I wrapped my arms tightly around my stomach, squeezing hard. An occasional shiver would go through me, as my mind raced on my father’s words. I could not get the memory of him in that hospital bed out of my mind, and I kept fighting off the dread by whispering to myself that he would be okay over and over again.
As we got nearer to my family farm, I called Martin.
“Audrey,” Martin said. “How’s your dad?”
“He’s in ICU, doped up on painkillers,” I replied. “Broken bones, and a head injury.”
“Damn,” Martin said. “You going to be okay alone?”
“Yes,” I said, although my feelings of trepidation did not bely my words. “Were you able to let Bella and Barney out?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “They were okay, but probably needed to piss really bad. You need me to meet you there with the key?”
“I have my dad’s key,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Well, just call me if you need anything.”
As we got off the phone, I could see the farm in the distance, as the setting sun sent its last rays over the tops of the surrounding woods. The car dropped me off and turned around as I made my way down the dirt driveway that leads up to my house.
“Bella, Barney!” I called. “Hey guys, I’m home!”
I kept calling as I got closer and scanned the area. They usually did not stray that far, and if they were shepherding our flock of sheep, they would be bringing them in, and I could see them coming down the gentle slope of the fields. My voice caught in my throat as I remembered their mysterious disappearance the previous night. I broke into a run, my calls turning into shrieks.
I raced around the house then over towards the barn and sheep pen. A foul smell made me almost choke. Rounding the barn, I cried out, my hands shooting up to my mouth. There was no movement in the sheep pen. It was a sea of bloody bodies, they were all on the ground, their throats slit. I fell to my knees and screamed. I felt like my scream filled the world. But not even that sound brought Bella and Barney back. They were gone….
submitted by RHGOtakuxxx to nosleep [link] [comments]


2023.06.06 17:03 RIPMiuraSensei Would love feedback of this first chapter

I have a loose plan for this and want to see where it goes.
Chapter 1 - Stranger
When Daglan woke up that morning he didn't see anything unusual. He had awoken from a drop of water falling from the ceiling as he did many mornings. His best friend Rozere was in the kitchen with her father cooking what smelled of eggs. The sun was shining through the cracks in the curtains and holes in the walls as it always did. What felt different? Then he heard voices outside, voices that grew louder and louder. At this point Rozere and her father Koshu had heard the commotion as well and stepped outside to see what it was. Daglan hastily followed suit, after finding his tunic and boots.
Lying on the ground outside was a young man, no older than 25. He lay face up in the dirt wearing only baggy purple pants and a black conical hat covering his face. His long black hair seemed to be tied at the base of his head in a long spiky ponytail, his slender muscular body was covered in dozens of battle scars, and at his waist was a black katana with its sword tied firmly inside its sheath. Almost the entire town had crowded around him, murmuring and shifting anxiously. It wasn't often people arrived in town, mostly just traders on their way to and from Inoris, and that too was a rarity.
"Back now people, give this man some room! And for the love of Reza, quiet!" Barked Doc Silvis as she pushed through the crowd. She immediately knelt down and felt his neck with her fingers. She paused for a moment and gave a very annoyed sigh, slapping away his hat. "He's alive alright. This dumbass is sleeping in the street." She gave the stranger a hard slap across the face, one that would have probably knocked him out, had he been awake. The crowd watched in awe as he yawned and scratched his nose, barely affected by Silvis.
"What should we do?" Someone asked.
"Do you know who he is?" Asked another.
As the murmurs heighted Daglan could tell Silvis was getting fired up, over the years Daglan had gotten to know Silvis quite well, with all his escapades outside the town walls. Daglan knew better than anyone that Silvis hated when a patient ignored her, and more so when she had to repeat herself.
"I said quiet! Don't you lazy bums have more important things to do?! Livani! Koreso! Aren't you two on watch?! Scram the lot of you!" A wave of fear crashed down upon the crowd and everyone began to disperse. All but Daglan, as Rozere pulled on his sleeve.
"Come on Daglan," she hissed, keeping an eye on Silvis like she was some wild animal, "You don't want to make her angrier."
"I'll be fine," he whispered, without looking back, his eyes stuck on the sleeping man. What was this feeling? It was like the feeling he got when Silvis healed his wounds, but not as warm. Almost closer to the feeling he got when abominations were near, when he ventures past the walls, but not as malicious. Before he knew it he was kneeling next to Silvis, watching her run her hand across his body, her hands glowing faintly, his curiosity bubbling.
"He isn't cursed or hypnotized, I can't feel a single thing wrong with him. I do believe this man is really just asleep, and slept through a slap in the face." Silvis sighed. After a few moments she looked at Daglan with a tired smile, then frowned. "Thanks for being quite Daglan, now since you're gonna bum around, get to work hauling this bastard back to my infirmary and don't let him out of your sight. I want to know as soon as he wakes up."
Daglan looked around to ask Rozere for help but she was already gone, how long had he been watching this stranger and Silvas? He looked down at the smiling, snoring face of the stranger, scooped under his arms, and with much difficulty began dragging the older, bigger boy to the infirmary.
The infirmary was quiet today, there hadn't been a major abomination attack in quite a few weeks which didn't happen often. It wasn't long before Rozere came in with a grimace on her face and her fingers on her nose.
"Honestly," she said in that strange nasally voice when you hold your nose, "I hate how much time you make me spend here. Between you getting hurt and my dad making me help Silvas, I can't get away!" She plopped down next to him and sighed. "So what's with this guy? Why are you still here with him?"
"Silvas asked me to watch him and tell her when he wakes up. Apparently I can't let him leave till she talks to him." He shrugged, trying more to convince himself. She eyed him suspiciously, but immediately dropped the subject.
"Did you notice his sword was tied closed? I wonder what that's about?" She reached out and placed a hand on his sword, and just then the weird energy the stranger gave off changed from similar to those of the abominations , to even scarier than anything he'd ever felt from them. Rozere fell to her knees and screamed as the stranger stood over her. When had he stood up?! Daglan shot to his feet, a smile ripping across his face as excitement crackled through his body. He prepared to defend his friend, when just as quickly as the evil energy had manifested, it disappeared. In fact the feeling Daglan had been getting from the stranger had all but subsided completely.
He stared at Daglan and Rozere with a confused look. When Rozere had eventually stopped screaming, Daglan held out his hand to help her up. Daglan’s mind raced with questions but could he do nothing but stare at the stranger as he stared back.
“Uh, hello-” he began and just then Silvas and Koshu burst through the door with Livani and Koreso close behind. Koshu sprang in between Rozere and the stranger, towering over him.
"What did you do to my daughter!" He said through gritted teeth. The stranger scratched the back of his head and opened his mouth when Rozere spoke up,
"It was nothing dad, he just woke up and scared me! Look at me I'm fine, now would you stop!" But Koshu didn't flinch, not until Silvas spoke up.
"Back off Koshu, Rozere is right, she's fine, and this boy is obviously no danger at the moment." He mumbled something under his breath but did as he was told . "Yeah, listen to Silvas and not me." Rozere grumbled, crossing her arms.
"Now listen here young lady, you will show your aunt some resp–" Koshu began but Silvas smacked him in the back of the head.
"Now isn't the time, Koshu, take her and go," she glared at the stranger, who was still smiling awkwardly and scratching the back of his head.
“Everyone out, now.”
"Uh, where am I? He eventually stammered.
"Daglan, out." Silvas said forcefully, without taking her eyes off the stranger. As well as Daglan knew Silvas, he'd never seen her this worked up, not even about the abominations . She was so strong-willed, so much more than anyone else in town. He had heard stories about Silvas, but only bits and pieces around town, probably all made up. Still there was one he heard more than others, he had heard before she lived in Graybarrow she had fought in some kind of war.
Daglan sat outside the infirmary trying to hear as much as he could. Wondering what could have gotten Silvas so worried, and if that man was even human. He could barely hear anything, mostly Silvas's mumbled questioning and the nervous laughter of the stranger. As he sat and pondered, an extremely tall, wide shouldered man sat down next to him and lit a cigarette. He had a long thick mustache that covered his upper lip but came down on the sides past his chin, and scruffy brown hair that stuck up at weird angles.
"Oh, hi Mr.Lucio." Daglan said as he pretended to have not been eavesdropping.
"I haven't seen you in class," he said as he blew out a cloud of smoke, "and I don't often see you hanging around here by choice." He continued to puff his cigarette as they sat in silence.
"Mr.Lucio… I can feel him like the abominations and Silvas's healing. What is he?"
"I'm not sure, from what I've heard he sounds human enough. What do you think?"
"I don't know… I think he's human? But why can I feel him?"
"There must be something similar between him, Silvas's healing, and the abominations from the mountains and forest, hmm?"
"I guess so…" They continued to sit in silence until Lucio had finished his cigarette.
"You can always talk to me if you need help, Daglan. You may like getting experience more, but a little book learning can go a long way." He stood up, pressing his cigarette out between his fingers and putting the butt in his pocket. "It's always good to see you, don't be a stranger." He said as he waved his hand walking away. Daglan thought about what Lucio had proposed, something similar. It didn't seem like Silvas or the stranger would be coming out soon so Daglan decided to go home and see what Rozere thought about all this.
When he did get home both Rozere and Koshu were in foul moods, having most likely fought since earlier. Deciding that he'd rather not be part of that, he grabbed his bag and scurried out the front door before Kusho had time to notice.
It's a short walk to the gate, the guards had patched up his last hole in the wall, but he had since come up with another, more thrilling way. Climbing up to the top of the traders hall, he'd be high enough to jump to the wall once the guards had passed. Then it was a quick jump down and a sprint out of their eyesight before he was able to relax. He walked along a path he knew quite well until he came up on a small ladder, it was built into a tree that led up to a small treehouse.
His exploration headquarters as he liked to call it. The inside was small and filled with trash, and his souvenirs from his adventures sat on a roughly made table. A small Salegitti skull, a broken dagger missing its tip, and a small crystal like rock that shown with faint yellow light. Next to them were three well worn books. He picked up the book titled journal and sat on the ground, scribbling furiously with a small piece of charcoal. He then began to study the other two, older, bigger books. One titled, Abominations of Hel’s Peaks, and the other, Creatures of South Shodun. Mr Lucio was right about book learning, but he liked his own books.
Back in town Rozere was wandering around with her hands behind her head, whistling to herself. “I wonder where Daglan is?” She pondered allowed, before realizing she had stopped in front of Silvas’s office. She stared at the large building with its off-white stone, and massive steel doors. There were various cracks and dents all along the wells and doors, as well as wooden planks over the windows, Silvas called them the clinic’s battlescars, there was nowhere safer to hide in the whole town.
She stared for a long time before realizing there was a man sitting in the grass, a large bottle of alcohol in one hand, and multiple empty bottles sitting neatly by his legs. His long spiky hair was a little cleaner, and the copious amounts of drool were now wiped away. His face was a bright red, and he had a cigarette hanging from his lips. He stared at her with a slight wobble,
“Hey… You're that girl that touched my sword right?” He took another large gulp from his bottle.
“Yeah? What of it?” She asked with defiance, her hands on her hips. He smiled a sickening smile and shot to his feet faster than Rozere could see.
“Why don't you try it again? Or will you simply scream for help? Little girls shouldn’t play with monsters.” He said as he towered over her. “Go ahead.” He lifted his arm in the air so his katana was unblocked. Rozere’s knees began to shake and a lump formed in her throat but she did not look away. She was an ant, and this man was a giant. She wasn't going to back down, but he could stand faster than she could see. Surely dropping his arm even faster would be no problem right? He was right, she wanted to scream, but she stood firm.
“Maybe I will!” She returned his malicious smile and reached out for his sword as fast as she could, bracing for the impact and the horrible crunch of bones as he grabbed her arm and snapped it in half. She flinched as her nerves went off, electric sensations coursing through her fingertips. It's happened! But what she felt wasn't pain, but the hard yet somehow soft grip of a katana hilt. She opened her eyes to see her hand firmly gripping his katana and a much more playful smile somehow even wider across this strange man’s face. He began to laugh loudly as she stumbled backwards and fell. He held out his hand, still giggling a little. She eyed him hard then after a moment smacked his hand away. She stood up, and began to brush herself off, glaring at him all the while. He apologized in between giggles.
“My name is Noboru, you've got quite the spirit to face me down. What's your name kid?” He asked as he sat back onto the grass and took another long swig from his bottle. Rozere straightened up and looked at him with a fiery gaze.
“Rozere of Grayborrow.” She said, crossing her arms. “And you dont scare me!”
“What are you yelling about Rozere?” Silvas asked as she appeared behind her. “You!” she exclaimed as she saw Noboru “Where did you get all of that from!? Rozere give me a hand and throw away these bottles would you?”
“She's already gone.” Noboru giggled. Silvas spun around to see that Rozere had indeed disappeared, as Noboru began to laugh louder. Rozere could hear the slap from across town as she sat against the traders hall. As she pondered just how big a lump must be on the side of Noboru's face, a ball smacked her’s.
“Hey who did that!?” She demanded as she hoped to her feat, tears forming in her eyes, which she quickly wiped away.
“Oh, sorry Rozere! I didn't mean to! Honest!” Said the boy as he ran up and grabbed his ball off the ground before the evil Rozere could kick it away, her foot swishing in the air. The boy was a few years younger than Rozere, had shaggy blonde hair, a tunic that was two sizes too big for him and a pair of round glasses broken in several spots.
“You better be sorry, pipsqueak!” she said, wiping her eyes and now running nose. “I'll have to beat you up if not!”
“Come on give Vilcus a break he said sorry. What are you doing over here by yourself anyways? Daglan run away again?” Said another girl with little blonde pigtails and red cheeks, as she came up behind Vilcus.
“Hi Meska and no he didn't run away again.” Rozere said, sticking her tongue out. “I just think he went for a walk is all… he'll be back… soon!” She crossed her arms and held her chin up. “Well why don't you come play with us until he gets back?” Meska asked, turning around and walking away, “We are playing dodgeball, maybe you can hit Vilcus in the face.”
“Hey nuh-uh! She won't hit me!” Vilcus persisted as he followed after her. Rozere sniffled, rubbed her nose with her sleeve, and smiled.
“Okay fine, but wait up!” She yelled.
As Daglan walked through the trees, he could feel the malicious energies from abominations all around him, it was making his blood boil. He remembered the stranger looking down at him and Rozere, overflowing with the most malicious intent he had ever felt. A smile began to creep across his face once more, as he could feel something close behind him. He spun around to see a creature he had only seen in books, the sight of which excited and terrified him. 
A giant humanoid creature with a long smooth snake-like torso, and grotesquely elongated arms and legs stood before him. It had a small pair of arms on its hips that bounced as if boneless, and a strange human face. Smooth indents of skin sat where the eyes should be, and it had a beak lined with razor teeth that jutted out at multiple angles. It clicked its tongue and sniffed the air then began to lick its beak with what could only be called a smile.
“What should I call you big fella?” Daglan asked nervously as excitement shot through his body. This wasn't like anything he'd ever encountered in the forest, or during attacks. This creature was much more dangerous. He gritted his teeth and forced an equally disgusting smile, even though he was sure the abomination couldn't see him. He pulled out the dagger he had smithed in secret at Koshu’s forge and dropped his stance lower, lower, lower. The creator was clicking and sniffing in anticipation, no doubt it could feel Daglan’s bloodlust.
Daglan took a slow step forward, then another. The creature's head tilted and it sniffed harder, then in a flash that Daglan couldn’t even see, it lashed out, slashing his shoulder apart. Adrenaline had already made its way to Daglan’s brain and he didn't even feel the warm blood soaking into his tunic or notice his limp arm flailing behind him as he attacked. He rolled under the creature’s arm and slashed at its ribs ripping its open sending its guts pouring out. It screamed in pain and whirled around, but its tall body and long arms whizzed over Daglan’s head. He rolled again, this time in between its legs, slashing at its knee, cutting down to the bone. It screamed again and fell to its knees with a gross squishy thud from one. It twitched and spazzed as it began twisting its body around in a disgusting manner.
Daglan approached cautiously, but the adrenaline had worn off and he looked down at his arm. It was almost completely blue, and the little skin and bone that held his arm to his body squirted copious amounts of blood. There was a blur then he was flying through the brush stopping when he thudden into a tree. His eyes began to blur with red, then black. The last thing he heard was a familiar voice...
“You are by far the most interesting of the bunch. Hey, can you hear me?”
When Deglan awoke he was looking at a ceiling he knew all too well. In a bed he had awoken in many times. But this time he couldn't move. “Silvas! What's happening?! Silvas! Rozere!” Daglan began to thrash when he heard that same voice.
“Hey hey hey! You're going to hurt yourself more than you already have!” When standing over him, blocking the light with his conical hat, was the stranger. “That was a nasty creature you were tangling with out there. I heard you like to fight but I'm guessing you've never seen a lasari before? Ugly things, and not easy to kill with small weapons if you don't know how.”
“I do know how.” Daglan said matter of factly, “They have two brains located behind the eye sockets.”
“Oh-ho-ho,” the stranger smiled maliciously, “ but how do you stop them from reproducing after that?” Daglan went silent for a moment. “What do you mean?"
“Lasari have a fun ability to reproduce from their corpse. Specifically, their heart has two eggs inside that will hatch if it ever stops beating. So to properly kill one you must burn the heart.” He laughed and presumably sat back down, out of Daglan’s eyesight. There was a slight pause and Daglan was about to speak when he heard a gasp and the stranger continued.
“Anyway, you almost lost your arm. Luckily, your doctor and blacksmith were able to fix you up, those two are something else. It'll take some time for your bo-” Daglan cut him off.
“What do you mean I almost lost my arm?! What did they do to me?!” He exclaimed, thrashing, memories of his broken and bleeding arm flashing through his mind.
“If you don't calm down, I will calm you down.” He said forcefully. “I hate babies. I thought you were supposed to be a tough kid? Now anyways it's just me and you here, everyone else is asleep, so please. I know you've heard of the metal prosthetics of this country, Metics, I think they're called? I’ve seen people in town with them. Well your blacksmith had to help your doctor make you a new shoulder.”
“So why are you being so helpful? I don't know you, and you feel the same as an abomination.” “See it's things like that!” He shot back up his face noticeably red.
“You're so interesting! I don't remember how I got here…” He scratched his head for a second, “but boy have I had fun since I've shown up!” Your girlfriend Rozere-”
“She's not my girlfriend, and you leave her alone!” He shouted.
“Well she's fearsome! And you’re so interesting too! Definitely the best five year o-”
“I’m twelve. Rozere is thirteen.”
“Well twelve then. Point is, I like you and your little girly friend, so I thought I'd help out and not let you die.” Then it dawned on Daglan, there was no way a search party found him like when he normally gets in a scap and passes. He had thoroughly lost and was deep in the woods. By all accounts he should be dead. Daglan was so angry he hadn't even thought about what happened afterwards.
“It was you. So what do you want from me? Are you some abomination loo-” This time the stranger cut him off.
“My name is Noboru, the handyman.”
“I've never heard of that species.”
“Well I'm not an abomination, I'm a jack-of-all-trades, so to speak. I travel from place to place making money doing odd jobs. Anyways, you remind me an awful lot of someone I used to know. So don't go throwing your life away against such low level trash as the abominations around here.” Daglan began to feel the intimidating malice from Noboru, almost that of when Rozere had touched his sword. “I know you can feel my energy. Unlike the people of this town, save a few, I think you're gifted.” Then it was gone just as quickly as before. “What do you want, Daglan.” Daglan’s blood was fire and his eyes daggers, piercing the ceiling with determination.
“I want to be remembered.”
“So get out of this town and maybe one day you can fight me, and I’m not even the strongest out there. Come… show this world what you're… made of because I for one… can't wait.” Just then Daglan heard a thud followed by an endless cascade of snores from Noboru.
“Would someone get me out of here!”
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2023.06.06 16:46 Loud_Ice_7099 BIID

I like having a brace on my right leg that causes my knee to be straight
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2023.06.06 16:24 Ondineondine I (30F) have been having sex with my husband (31M) for the past 15 years, doggy style has always been a favorite until now, recent pain

Looking for advice, my husband and I have always enjoyed sex, and doggy style in particular is a favorite.
We’ve had issues with hitting the cervix before because of the deep penetration so we only do it when I am really aroused and when I know the cervix is high.
Recently we’ve tried doggy and I feel the strangest pain, like his penis is jabbing into some tissue on the inside but front of my pelvis, and it’s a burning uncomfortable pain. I tried bracing through it once and it just got worse, so now I recognize it and we stop, I’ll lay down flat and it goes away.
But I love doggy, and being on my knees, and I know he loves that too.
Seeking advice on what this may be to fix it. For reference I know endometriosis might be brought up, but I never feel cramps, my period has always been regular. We do not have any kids yet. Like I mentioned, it’s not the cervix, I know that feeling and it’s different. He can even be thrusting shallow and the uncomfortable burning pain is still there- only when I’m on my knees.
I DO have a tilted uterus- but I have always had this, and not sure why it would suddenly become a problem now?
Any help is super appreciated!
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2023.06.06 15:41 Common-Command-6357 AITB for telling boyfriend not to tease me about my knee?

My boyfriend and I have been dating for over a year, things have gone well. Years ago, I tore my ACL and needed surgery, and it sucked and still occasionally bothers me. Recently my boyfriend and I went for a hike and my knee started acting up on me, so I hobbled a bit. My boyfriend, who did not know about my old injury, said “almost there, grandma!” He sounded very playful but I was hurt and offended by his comment. When we made it to the end of the trail, I told him that I know we joke a lot, and that he probably meant well, but i don’t want to tease each other and don’t like sarcastic comments about me, and that his comment about calling me grandma was triggering. He can be light and jokey frequently, so I said that i know that’s how he acts with his friends, but told him to please don’t do that with me.
My bf was taken back, but said ok. He was a little distant after that. So I reached out and told him to please not be upset with me because I expressed a boundary. He said he wasn’t, but he’s been a bit distant since, it’s clear he’s a bit afraid to engage me, and we haven’t really spoken.
AITB for telling my boyfriend not to tease me?
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2023.06.06 14:42 Johnny_Boy398 Africa Rework Proposal: Bêafrîka, Katanga, and the Mercenary Kingdoms of Africa

Africa Rework Proposal: Bêafrîka, Katanga, and the Mercenary Kingdoms of Africa
(This is part of a continuing series, links to which will be provided in the comments below)
Bêafrîka State: Bob Denard, Jean-Bédel Bokassa and the mercenary state.
The term “warlord” has been abused by many as a catch all term for any armed african group. It brings to mind images of a barbaric, violent oaf seeking to enrich themselves with trinkets and money off the back of their military extortion: an example of the primitive and bloodthirsty nature of the african. This is certainly the purpose of the term for the Germans, who seek to paint all native armed resistance in this light in order to justify their own return to the continent. But despite this abuse of the term, and its unjust application, it is not made up out of whole cloth: bandits, criminal gangs and short sighted thugs do exist among the africans as they do in all people, and the chaos of the German collapse has given these characters the opportunity of a lifetime. In the former RK Zentralafrika this is seen most clearly in the “mercenary state” of Bêafrîka.
Borders of a successful Bêafrîka. Many post-colonial African nations are accused of being artificial: random lines drawn on a map for the convenience of foreigners, and thus doomed to be either failures or exploitive facades. The truth of this statement is debatable: what makes a nation “organic”, is it truly critical that one be so? Are the struggles of new African nations so easily encapsulated? The argument goes on but all will agree on this: Bêafrîka is an utterly artificial and extractive state which can only begrudgingly be called a nation at all.
The north-west of Zentralafrika has always been something of a hodgepodge. The initial conquest of the area from the Free French meant the roll back of any “nation building” expenditures in favor of reverting back to the old company rule. Corvee slavery, plantations and almost non-existent infrastructure was the rule even under the French, and as such the transition to German ownership was almost seamless. If the average native african noticed a difference at all it was in the flags and helmets of the whites who terrorized them: their managers and guards stayed essentially the same. As such the region was seen by independence agitators as ripe for their own movements to grow in. Though such resistance was kept on a tight leash by the Germans it finally burst forth in the northern incursion of 1954. Supported by Nigeria and with the German forces drawn thin by the ongoing Wester Russian War, socialist militants made a lightning strike southward in the hopes of toppling Zentralafrika. For a moment it seemed as if they would do it: the road to Leopoldville was only lightly guarded and the rebel numbers were, in theory, vast. But it was not to be: poor command structures and infighting slowed the rebel advance for long enough that Kommissar Krogmann and Seigfreid Muller were able to reorganize and counterattack with the aid of a new breed of soldier: the Mercenary.
Though having been present in the role of corporate security for years this war was the instance when the Congo Mercenaries truly became a force to be reckoned with. Restrictions on who could hold a gun were dropped and the ranks of mercs swollen with Europeans, Asians and Africans. Though typically small groups and far more independent than Krogmann would have liked, they were all well acquainted with their trade and often brought along their own equipment. They could move fast, hit hard, and there was no reason to suspect their siding with the revolutionaries. With the aid of mercenaries and the cash of selling off vast tracts of land to private holders the revolutionaries were pushed back, and the long guerilla war began. Some areas of Zentralafrika were essentially passive, or had other security solutions. But in the north it was the mercenaries and the garrison which enforced the German order. Names of these men would soon become minor celebrities to the military minded, and their benefactor Seigfreid Muller got a promotion. But for our story only three names matter: the French “mercenary king” Bob Denard, “black Napoleon” Jean-Bédel Bokassa, and “the tiger” Alexandre Banza.
Though it is the armed men who hold real power in their hands, the counter-revolutionary forces are not all German and French soldiers of fortune. The APL’s anti-clerical excesses and radical nativism also alienated the thin class of native collaborators and most of all the catholic church. Barthelemy Boganda was one such native conservative, being a native priest who has tried to act through the church to both reform and aid his flock. After the death of his mentor Marcel Grandin Boganda has become a leading figure of pro-native reform without resorting to violence or leftist radicalism.
With the alliance of French and German landowners paying for their protection the mercenaries, though still technically led by Europeans, became the foremost armed presence in the north. Battling against resistance internal and external by 1962 they have become a hated and envied force, and one which Krogmann is eager to bring into line. But the South Africa War will get in the way of any reforms, with mercenaries once again being called on to shoulder the burden of warfare and internal suppression. By the end of the conflict, no matter how it ends, the mercenaries will have become an even more entrenched force in Zentralafrika. Of course when Huttig takes over this will no longer be tolerated. Having already been humiliated by Muller before, Huttig will take great pleasure in dismissing and rounding up the mercenaries, forcing them to join his forces as regular conscripts without any special privileges. Or rather he would, if he had been fast enough to catch them. When news came of Krogmann’s death and Huttig’s assumption of control the mercenaries did not wait for the order to come: they fled if they were able, and if not they seamlessly transitioned from paid agents of the state to new warlords out for their own survival and enrichment. And more than anyone they congregated around the new king of the mercenaries: Bob Denard.
For the year Huttig’s reign lasts the gangs of former mercenaries will be yet another thorn in his side: raiding, bribing and leading his forces on goose chases. And thanks to Huttig’s destruction of any boats or airplanes he could not gain control over these same former mercenaries had nothing else they could do, unless they cared to gamble trekking all the way to Free France. But Huttig’s flailing attempts to bring them to heel was only one of many threats: in this same area socialist militants and petty warlords also sprung up, and sought to destroy the hated mercenaries themselves. When Huttig dies and the German forces retreat to Leopoldville all pretense will be dropped: the Pan-africans, Fang Gabonese and Cameroonian revolutionaries will all attempt to proclaim new states and to expel the gangsters of German capitalism for good. But with their attention divided and the mercenaries still possessing skill, fire power, and all the money the old landowners could scrap together the attempt will only be half successful. Right between the three of them the new Bêafrîka State will be proclaimed.
Born in 1929 Bob Denard first got the taste for battle during the French State’s failed expeditions against De Gaulle in the late 40s. Deciding that there was better pay and better leadership to be had in Zentralafrika he was one of the first mercenaries brought in through the “King of the Mercs” Siegfried Müller. Though he has little patience for the Reich’s racial code he is a brave commander and an ardent anti-communist. After Müller’s disappearance upon Hüttig’s ascension the stranded mercenaries looked to those bold and skilled enough to lead them, and found it in Denard.
Under the nominal presidency of Boganda, who was practically kidnaped to take the role, the new state is in perhaps the most precarious position of all post-independence states.Their domestic support rests on a incredibly thin strata of white landlords, a handful of native conservatives and a mercenary army which is already looking for a way out the back door. And opposing them is a very dedicated coalition of native nationalists and revolutionaries. It would be the most natural thing in the world for this ramshackle “state” to disintegrate. But there is one thing which can unite them, and can make them all take the risk of fighting it out: Money. Specifically diamonds, gold, and other precious metals which can be sold high on the global market. The mercenaries, native or foreign, have struck for fame in Bêafrîka with the process of becoming more than the lap dogs of the wealthy, but instead to be the wealthy themselves. Baganda hates this of course, but no one asked: the guns call the shots here. And besides, the APL has already branded him a traitor to the people: in the mercenaries' eyes he should be thankful that he still has his head. And so it is decided, the mercenaries would make their own little heaven, and all they had to do to keep it was win the war for it.
Against them stands the APL, their long-time adversary. When the war begins these Pan-africanists, supported by Cameroon and Nigeria, will take the fight to Bêafrîka. This would probably be a death sentence if it were not for the fact the APL is fighting a two front war with the Nationalists to their east. If the mercenary state should still fail it will be dismantled, with the surrounding states taking over its former territory. But if it should win this first war the gamble will have, for now, paid off. Bob, Bokassa and the rest will be able to begin bringing in the money as they use outright criminal methods to both extract and then sell the bounty of the land. The people, of course, hate this as does the nominal “president”. And within the mercenary ranks new fissures will soon begin to show. When faced with a united enemy these men were willing to work together, but now that the threat of death no longer hands quite so close the question of dividing the spoils has quickly turned into a feeding frenzy: it seems to be every mercenary clique for itself trying to carve out its own privileged fiefdom. And it is here that the reformists, such as they are, spy an opportunity.
Alexandre Banza, born 1932 to the Gbaya people, is one of the very few high ranking officers who have a ethnic connection to the land they now rule. His story is much the same as the rest of the black mercenaries: born to a poor family he saw mercenary service as a path to excitement, respect and advancement he would never get on his own. Intelligent, ambitious, and unscrupulous he would rise to become a commander of his own group before the Huttig takeover, and should he take power will rename his state the Bêafrîka Republic, embarking on a cynical campaign of “reform”.
The continued presence of white mercenaries is especially resented by the people, and none more so than commander of the presidential guard and de facto leader of the Bêafrîka State Bob Denard. As such soon after the emergency of war has passed Denard will be dismissed from his position and the two most prominent native warlords Alexandre Banza and Jean-Bédel Bokassa will be invited in to take command. Denard of course has no interest in leaving, and will arrest the president in his own residence, but not before word of the new decree leaked to the streets and the other mercenaries. So it is that the fate of Bêafrîka will be decided the only way a state built on mercenaries could be: with a shootout for control of the president. On one side is Denard: he has already made overtures to Free France and the OFN, as well as criminal contacts in Europe. By leveraging these contacts, and with the aid of the remaining white mercenaries who see his removal as the precursor to their own, he may be able to fight his way out and rise to power over the bodies of his rival warlords.
If Bob Denard and his presidential guard emerges victorious president Boganda’s days will be numbered. Unceremoniously removing and replacing him with a more compliant puppet who I will not even bother you with the name of, any promised elections will be delayed, and then delayed indefinitely. In the end even the facade of democracy will be left behind as the government instead relies on various emergency decrees and under the table deals, as well as outright coercion to cement its power. This is the true mercenary state, in which the armed and powerful take what they want from the weak and destitute: the state will see its revenues come from precious minerals and eventually oil, but just as much from the underground world of smuggling, arms trading, mercenary contracts on behalf of any who will pay, and even (if rumors are to be believed) human trafficking. Denard himself is not so unsophisticated as many of his henchmen: he portrays himself and his state as anti-communist crusaders who are willing to go to the ends of the earth to protect the people from the bolshevik menace. But it makes no difference to the people and to his neighborhood: unless those friendly to him such as the Free French and the Belgian regionalists are victorious both Denard and his state will find themselves facing external invasion sooner or later. When that happens, surrounded by disciplined enemies and facing ever increasing internal revolts, Denard will do what mercenaries do best: he will gather what valuables and guns he can before fleeing. But if this should not happen: if the Congo should remain shattered, and Nigerian ambitions fail, who knows how long the dream may last?
Living as they do in a half criminal status all mercenaries are well acquainted with the underworld. Under Bob however the state itself will come to resemble a crime syndicate, with Bob acting as the Mafia boss. More than any other single resource diamonds are the breadwinner for the “White King of Bêafrîka”, but taking a page out of Manchuria’s playbook drug production and trafficking are increasingly filling the ledger as well. The diplomatic denouncements are nothing: there are always back doors which money can open.
But all this is only if Bob and his people should win the battle for President Boganda. For the first time having the full backing of the streets and with a larger manpower pool to draw from it is likely that the native warlords Alexandre Banza and Jean-Bédel Bokassa will become the victors, chasing out the (competition) colonizers in favor of their own rule. They shall of course be rewarded by the eternally thankful president for their good deeds: Bokassa will take over as the new head of the presidential guard, while Banza will become minister of finance and foreign minister. But just as inevitably there is no throne on earth big enough for two people and so the former allies will soon look for a way to oust the other. The hope of the civilians lay in the victory of the Alexandre Banza clique. If he should succeed in arresting and disappearing his rivals Banza will seek to somewhat moderate the state. Rather than rely on naked coercion he will enforce the most basic of social contracts: in return for the country's obedience he will provide protection. Though the basic facts of the Bêafrîka State shall remain: a thriving underground, an economy based on raw export, and a army of criminals, the worst aspects of this rule will be softened and the “civilianization” of government give cosmetic reform to the regime, and finally permit the nominal president a level of dignity, even being allowed to push some of his catholic inspired social reforms. Though not much more than swapping a military uniform for a business suit this will go some way to providing a sense of normalcy, and allow the state to take a non-aligned stance rather than become the plaything of some foreign power.
On the other hand is the favorite of the soldiers Jean-Bédel Bokassa. You know him as the “mad” emperor of the C.A.R. otl, but there was always a method to his madness: one cannot remain in power for over a decade by being stupid. Where Banza seeks to normalize his regime and to be seen as a developmental junta rather than a warlord, Bokassa will lean into his reputation as a warlord, adding esoteric elements to bolster his rule over strangers. Under Bokassa the new system will be entirely personal: he will take the already weak state apparatus and effectively dismantle it, instead relying on personalized dependents to govern the capital city, and leaving the remainder of the country to its own devices so long as it bent the knee when ordered. No longer able to convincingly portray himself as a benign figure to a people who are mostly foreigners to him, he will instead tap into local superstitions to appear as the master of the occult, ruling as a man to be feared even beyond the grave and allegedly indulging in cannibalism. Perhaps even more importantly however he will make a hard switch from western backing to eastern, seeking the protection and the money of Japan. In this at least he will be fairly competent: negotiating the relationship with Japan through a mixture of bribery, utility, and threatened confiscations to wring out as much foreign aid and diplomatic backing as he can. Beyond this his rule will be one of chaos and decline with the people seeing their standard of living decrease yet further to a near subsistence level. But it will be a chaos which Bokassa alone is the ruler of.
Jean-Bédel Bokassa has been fighting longer than most: volunteering for the Free French during WW2, he was captured and ultimately released during the German conquest of Gabon. From there he drifted as a menial laborer until the northern insurrection forced the Reichskommissar to bend, and Bokassa was called up by an old french commander. From there he rose to be the de-facto head of his own suit by 1962, and now the undisputed leader of his own fiefdom. The extreme personalism and close relation with Japan will eventually result in his coronation as the sovereign of the Central African Empire.
Whether it be cynical pragmatism or esoteric terror the Bêafrîka State will remain a pariah among their fellow african nations. Cameroon and Gabon will consistently attempt to undermine and take over their territory for themselves, while even the Germans will see any government as traitors and rebels. Though its military may find a backer and its people may become cowed, the incredibly fragile state will come to an end sooner than later, unless they get very lucky. Any Nigerian victory will be a disaster, but a successful unifyer to the south and east would be a great threat as well. They were already founded in the war against one of those potential unifiers and all contenders for power recognize that a united Congo is a dangerous Congo. So, either through direct aid in the case of Denard or cheering from the sidelines Bêafrîka must hope for the victory of the regionalists and Jean Schramme.
Katanga, the Regional Alliance, and “The Belgian”.
For the Pan-Africans, the Republicans, the Nationalists and even the Germans survival is not enough: they wish to reunite the old Belgian colony under their vision of the future, and perhaps even seek expansion beyond that. But not all “congolese” feel this way: in particular the province of Katanga sees no reason why it should not be free to plot its own course. Wealthy in its own right with economic ties to the south the elite of the mining provence see no reason why they should be chained to a central government, and are at least partially supported in this by the people. Just what future this “independence” takes is is still up for grabs, but in the chaotic aftermath of Huttings death Moïse Tshombe, Albert Kalonji and Jean Schramme will form a triumvirate to lead the Regional Alliance.
Élisabethville slum. Katanga is the richest province in the Congo, as well as the one with the highest concentration of Belgians, and as such has seen the beginning of a modern city develop in its capital. It has also been the prime region for victims of the Congo Dam to migrate into, on account of its relative stability and high labor demand. This has all combined to put a great deal of pressure on those populating the land south of the lake and the development of modern slums alongside the growing city.
Katanga is, in 1962, the last remnant of Belgian colonial rule left after the German takeover. Not formally of course, that had been swept away along with Belgum itself in the 50s. But just beneath the German surface the old colonial trinity of church, company and stick still held true, and mostly under Belgian control. In the aftermath of WW2 and the establishment of Burgundy many Belgians had chosen to migrate into their old colonial territory, either for political or economic reasons. Their numbers would soon fill out the officer ranks of the Force Publique, the managerial posts of various new mines and plantations, and the pews of the catholic church. But it would not be the end of their difficulties: the old trinity clashed with Krogmann’s designs for the colony and after formally absorbing it in 1955 the contest began. Where the catholic church once held near total control over healthcare and education, not to mention religious life, Krogmann favored secularism for the european and promoted dechristianization for the native. His hopes for dissolving the FP and for removing french and dutch from the lexicon would be similarly resisted. By 1962 this contest of wills has continued to grind on, with the steady advance of germanization being constantly interrupted by economic and political expediency. The Belgian Katangaians find themselves stuck uncomfortably between German pressure from above and Native pressure from below.
This native pressure is on one hand from the educated evoles, always looking to improve the lot of themselves and sometime of their kin. But it also increasingly comes from the restless masses who have come under pressure from the fallout of the Congo Dam. As the Belgian congo moderately prospered the cities began to grow as well, with the colonial authorities making tentative attempts to accommodate the influx. But after the Congo dam and the German takeover both of these trends changed. Millions of refugees fled the great flood into the wealthiest regions they could go: Leopoldville and Katanga. The population of the cities exploded, and the subsistence agriculture still practiced by most Congolese came under incredible pressure as migrants and squatters proliferated. The Belgian authorities meanwhile were left without the resources needed to truly accommodate this change, and were left with only the Force Publique to try and keep the “indigenes” separate from the new “foreigners”. It was in this context that regionalist associations with the goal of protecting specific people, such as the Lula or Lunda, came to dominate the native political scene, such as it was. Both of these movements discovered that they had similar enemies: both resented German power and feared the “national” native resistance. But this did not yet mean they became allies.
Moïse Tshombe, the nominal head of Katanga. Born to a noble lineage and always wealthy, his desire to be liked and his lack of spin have made him into an ideal puppet for other interests. His current sponsor is the remnants of the old Belgian Union Minière, which comprise much of Katanga’s economy. Though not hated by any “his” government is in reality more beholden to his lieutenants such as Godefroid Munongo.
Katanga had lived in an atmosphere of tension even before the rise of Huttig and the advent of the “Afrikareich” did nothing to alleviate this tension. As part of Huttig’s program to fully disarm the natives and bring all armed forces under SS command he attempted to disarm the Force Publique and Belgian mercenaries, rolling them into its own armed forces. Prominent civilian Belgians were arrested and replaced with SS men, leaving both the Belgians and the natives angered. Under this new pressure some decided to give it up: the new regime could not be bargained with as the prior one was, and any resistance clearly meant death. But enterprising elements were not willing to take death laying down: most prominently this included Godefroid Munongo and Jean Schramme. Using their own wealthy connections and estates as payment they would form small resistance groups, and would be the first formal alliance between the Belgians and the regionalists. To cut a long story short when Huttig dies and the Germans retreat to Leopoldville, those SS governors who do not flee will find their lifespans much shorter than expected, and those brave or desperate enough to resist Huttig will return to power. In the face of nationalist calls to reunite the congo however, the regionalists will move first. With the lavish bribery of local mining conglomerates and the justification of “popular will”, the Belgian community led by Schramme and localist leaders will form the first concret result of their ad-hoc alliance: The State of Katanga.
In its first years Katanga is a divided and unsettled place, forced into unity by the common fear of external subjugation but beholden to competing political camps. The state itself is at least nominally led by Moïse Tshombe, descendant of the kings of the Lunda people and scion to one of the last wealthy native families. He is the figurehead of a poorly organized class of native elites and collaborators, most often independently wealthy and committed just as much to their own economic privileges as they are to the cause of regionalism itself. But despite this Tshombe heads the closest thing to a “popular movement” in the new state: the "Confédération des associations tribales du Katanga" (CONAKAT). Formed in the interest of protecting the livelihoods of the Lunda against the encroaching migrants it is through this party that the people are mobilized for war. Relying on traditional authority and elite connections in the name of a tribalism has been effective in at least countering the partisans of the republicans and nationalists which contest the provence. Just as in the other contenders the war is as much a mater of internal division as it is defeating external challenges. But in order to meet those external enemies the party has been obliged to do so with the aid of their “ally”, the Belgians.
Jean Schramme, despite his official profession, is less of a mercenary and more of a Belgian “contractor” who has a reputation for getting things done and resisting German encroachment. Coming to Africa soon after the end of WW2 he is part of a new breed of Belgians who consider Zentralafrika, or more accurately Katanga, as their true home and embrace the ideal of a paternal ruler of their “primitive” neighbors. Being a successful entrepreneur as well as part time leader of the “Leopard Battalion” Jean has become a prominent part of the Belgian expat community. But though he no longer wishes to return to Europe do not think he has forgotten what the Nazi’s did: the old motherland is dead by German hands, and he has not forgiven them.
Just as on the native side the Belgians are divided internally: German policy was frustrating and insulting, but it was also relatively stable and offered a protection against the natives surrounding them. To forgo this protection and risk battle with the world's superpowers in the name of an uncertain independence requires a boldness uncommon in men. But since when did the meek make history? Returning from his armed exile Schremme will find the FP and Belgian police in disarray, and take it upon himself to topple the last of the SS governors. In his mind there is no question: in order for the Belgians to be free and prosperous they must take the risk of rebellion against Germany and carve out their own state in the chaos. But despite his personal exploits he is unable to do this on his own, and so despite his personal distaste for allying with the native regionalists his own backers in the belgian mining and administrative class have forced him to make common cause with “their” evolese. Regardless Schremme has become the critical belgian commander in this rebelion, bringing the remainder of the belgian community with him whether they like it or not. He leads in a mercenary style, never far from the front lines and with a greater emphasis on personal bravery than more mundane things like logistics.
Though Katanga is the heart of the Regionalist Alliance it is still only one part of that alliance: to the eastern flank is Sud-Kasaï, led by Albert Kalonji as the vanguard state of the Luba secessionist movement. Both Kalonji and Tshombe claim to be protecting their people (Luba and Lunda respectively) from becoming minorities within their own land and from becoming the playthings of another foreign power, whether that be Germania, Washington or any other place. They are also both from prominent and wealthy local families, who have cooperated with the belgian colonizers for generations and have every personal incentive to resist foreign acquisition. As such their support is not primarily from the people, but from the oligarchs and the army. These are two significant advantages however: While other factions are scrambling to put together a military, a state, and to pay for it all, Katanga and her allies are able to fall back on the old colonial power structures, expanding the FP and leveraging oligarchical ties to slap together an army faster than their rivals. With the mix of audacious leadership, money and the Schramme loyalist mercenaries/formed FP officers the alliance may be able to snatch its independence despite the lack of international backing.
Map of regionalist victory, Azandeland acts as a placeholder for local authority (or lack thereof), Sud-Kasai is the Luba Empire. The immediate issue facing the regionalists will be export access: the states survival depends on the revenue from its extensive mining operations, and if that material cannot be exported it is worthless. For this Katanga must either negotiate a trade deal with the German remnants, or seek a detente with the self proclaimed frontline of liberation Zambia. Neither is eager to do this, but the world calls for what Katanga can provide, most of all Uranium. Eventually the market will win out, and one side will decide it is better to compromise principle than give the other an opportunity to gain access to the Katanga bounty.
IF VICTORIOUS the Regionalist Alliance will comprise an expanded State of Katanga, the Luba Empire, and a number of minor eastern powers propped up by Katanga. For the Luba and the Eastern chiefs the question of post war politics is an easy one: tribal traditionalism shall prevail as Albert Kalonji names himself king and the local chiefs are either bribed or threatened into compliance with the new order. While some may make efforts to modernize and advance their domains it will only be done under the watchful and occasionally helpful eye of Katanga. The only question remaining is who will be in control of Katanga itself. Jean Schramme is not a reasonable man, or at least not a moderate one: if he feels that he and the Belgians are not granted their proper place he may well try to overthrow Moïse Tshombe and install himself as the leader of the new state. The natives are less than satisfied as well: though free of foreign control it is clear to them that the old order is no longer acceptable: the people who fought and won the war for independence demand that their sacrifice be rewarded in some meaningful way. And most of all the question of race can no longer be papered over: The Belgians and Europeans remain on top, the migrants have been savaged, and the land and jobs available are not enough to satisfy them all.
To reconcile these internal difficulties a conference shall be held between the Belgian leadership of the army and company's one on hand, and the native oligarchs and officers on the other to see if a viable solution can be worked out. On the Belgian side the question is that of security and property: they wish to maintain the full roster of legal rights granted to them by belgian law, to keep their property and company concessions, and for a Belgian “veto” in the national government to ensure that Belgian rights are not trampled by some future populist government. On the CONAKAT side is a desire to renegotiate the terms of the “social contract”: to ensure a majority native voice in government which cannot be overruled by Belgian privilege, greater native ownership of property and the full abolition of any legal barriers to their advancement. However both sides are united in seeking stability and in their distrust of the congolese “masses”. Those masses are not without a voice themselves: through labor unions, dissident political parties and new officer associations the experience of warfare has made the people politically aware. If the result of the conference does not give some bones to the people it may find that its support is far too narrow to be stable.
Union Minière, once the undisputed master of the Katanga economy, has declined somewhat under German overlordship. With a majority of its shares owned by the Belgian state and its former leadership fleeing to America after the end of the war its foundations were shaky. When Krogmann began the great sell off and rescinded the Belgian Congo’s autonomy the company found itself in yet more hot water. Transitioning to a locally owned company within Zentralafrika itself the Union has been forced to cut back on its paternalistic spending to make ends meet. Beyond the typical demands for labor rights and wage increases the Kantaga people also wish for a return to the housing, education and social protection once afforded by the leviathan. With its place in Katanga once again secure this may just be possible.
A successful conference will be one of compromise. For the people a number of social protections and laws will be promised: greater state funding to education, hospitals, and housing will be promised, along with a hike in wages. In order to afford this the belgians will need to accept their privileged economic position comes with a responsibility to fund the state which protects it: though direct taxes may be a bridge too far a system of expected “gifts” and an expansion of the old paternalism into state guided policy may work out. In return for their material contributions the Belgians will receive legal autonomy, organizing their own political parties and keeping their land. The native oligarchs meanwhile would take the national stage, being granted privileged places within the Katanga economy as well as using CONAKAT as their vehicle for political dominance. Concessions and compromises such as these require that all parties trust the other to keep up their end of the bargain, and not simply alter the deal when they feel they are able. And in the aftermath of a brutal civil war and a political culture of corruption such trust is very hard to come by. But if these difficulties are overcome, and Jean Schramme is kept mollified, the new State of Katanga will be ruled as a collaborative oligarchy, keeping real representation out of the hands of the people and wealth in the hands of a few, but also a relatively stable and moderate government which is willing to compromise when need be. Unless it is a question of distrusted ethnic groups attempting to secede from the state or restart Congolese unification, in which case the Katanga Gendarmerie will be the only answer given.
But what if this conference does not succeed? What if the protests outside become too large, or the sides are too inflexible, or if Jean Schramme believes the rights of Belgians are being sold too cheaply? Then the Rule of Fire will come back and those with the force to crush their opposition will prevail. And in Katanga that can only mean one thing: Schramme and his allies will stage a coup, placing themselves in charge once again as an emergency government. Those unwilling to ally with him will be dismissed, replaced with those who are. The new mission of the state is the protection of “Belgian civilization” in Katanga, with Schramme attempting to revive the old trinity of Church, State and Company under his guiding hand. He never truly wanted to be in this position: he would much rather simply go back to his plantation and be master of his own little world. But he belives that his new homeland calls out for leadership and guts it seems only he can provide, and so he will seek to lead it into the future he envisions. One where the Congo natives are grateful and subservient to their betters, where all the structures of the trinity are led by Europeans to the benefit of all. Of course most of the natives have very different ideas about what the future should look like, and so Schremma’s Katanga will immediately be thrown into a bush war as the old civil war factions reform as guerrilla movements seeking to topple his dictatorship. The profits of Katanga are vast, especially if one is willing to sell uranium to anyone willing to buy, but how long will money and determination be able to hold against the will of the people?
At a stretch the white population of Katanga is 100,000, while the total african population is somewhere north of 1.5 million. This is before one considers the increasing populations of the Luba Empire and the eternal frontier of the Eastern Congo. And then there is the highly likely presence of hostile regimes on the borders: all the money in the world cannot win Schramme this Bush War, and he will either need to swallow his pride and accept democratization for the natives or accept the return of the Reich as suzerain. And even that may not be enough to avoid the rage of a people betrayed.
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2023.06.06 14:25 SepticSauces Blue Roses: Non-Sapient Predatory Introduction! [17]

A special thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the fantastical universe.
Have a really long chapter!
Forgot to say it has been a while. Hope you're all doing well!
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Memory transcription subject: Jaxton, son of a humble sheep farmer
Date [standardized human time]: October 11th, 2136
If someone asked me years ago how many people would travel the globe just to see me. My answer would have been three; my father, my mother, and Dex Mason. My mother and father would have been simply obligated to do so, as I was their son, and I would have done the same thing. Dex was my best friend when I went to middle school in America, and he stayed my best friend when I went back to Wales, going back to Atlanta for many vacations.
What can I say? He had a nice collection of guns, and his general cheerful attitude made many people optimistic, so a day on the range with him led to the both of us being happier.
Then you add in Dex’s older and younger brothers, our mutual friend John Dillinger, and then you have a recipe for a fun time; guns, video games, hiking, and the occasional sheep herding if they ever come to my home: It’s a blast!
An alien porcupine though… I honestly never expected that I would ever in my honest-to-God lifetime, have such an impact on someone before. We barely knew each other for even a few minutes, yet she to my knowledge was merely some sad Gojid that was struggling with depression and loss. All I did was walk in and comfort her, or well, that’s how I saw it.
I still feel like an absolute idiot for forgetting about what I told her. It wasn’t a promise, but based on the implication of how I said it. It may as well have been a declaration to see the girl a few hours later, or however long it took her to get ready.
Now, speaking of Barlim, it’s been a few minutes since she arrived at my doorway at the most unexpected of times. I had her sitting in our living room on our couch. The Gojid, or Gojya, that I had to have explained to me, had her arms wrapped around one of our decorative pillows. She was giving squeezes every few seconds depending on how she felt, and if she was really giving it a firm squeeze, I’d reach over and stroke the top of her head. Barlim seemed to relax every time I did this.
“You holding up better?” Barlim appeared to be holding up better: No longer sobbing out tears from her eyes, or having mucus running from her nostrils.
She merely sniffed weakly for a second, nuzzling into my hand. If I had to admit, I had no idea if I was performing some massive social taboo by patting her like an animal, but if she wasn’t going to complain, neither was I. I mean, I already poked myself twice more! “I’m feeling much better. Sorry for intruding…”
“Don’t be,” I said while holding back a small laugh. “Are you feeling better enough to talk now?” Barlim’s ears flicked in response, and then she nodded in response upon realizing I didn’t know what those ear flicks meant. “Good.”
“Hey, I would just like to apologize for how I acted,” my mother started before I had the chance to speak. “It’s just that I’ve seen on the news and read of murderous xenophobic aliens…-”
“It’s fine,” Barlim let out the most adorable-sounding chittering noise I have ever heard. It sounded as if a porcupine was, well, laughing! “I would not have reacted much differently… Three days ago?” At least she could make fun of herself for how she acted. Her ears gave a few flicks, gesturing towards amusement or self-depreciation if I had to guess. They burned bright blue.
My father took a minute to stand up and walk over to Barlim. She only fidgeted a little bit, but not much when he reached out to her with one hand. “Jameson, again, it’s been pleasant to meet you so far.” The man’s hand hung in the air for several seconds. Barlim eyeing it up with what had to be a quizzical expression. “You’re supposed to grab it and firmly shake it,” my father eventually grunted.
“Oh!” That seemed to snap Barlim out of her stupor. She reached forward in kind with one paw, clasping her surprisingly big paw around my father’s hand, which he shook. The Gojid seemed to have a fair understanding of the action after a few seconds, at which point the handshake ended and my father returned to his seat.
A brief, quiet pause occupied the four of us before there was more knocking at the front door. “Oh, uh, that may be the rest of my friends. I sort of forgot about them when I realized we were so close.” The tips of Barlim’s ears turned a delicate shade of blue. She started to get up, but with a firm palm on the top of her head, I held her down, gently.
“You traveled a long way. Let me get the door,” I state and get up from the couch. My knees and back stretch, giving a satisfactory series of pops before I work my way to the front door. I decide against grabbing the mask, assuming that Barlim’s friends have gotten quite used to the infamous human binocular stare. When I open it, I see a rather eclectic group of individuals, some familiar and some not.
“Arwen, Trivi, Tova, and I take it Barlim’s friends.” Arwen and Trivi issue some friendly waves. Tova has her forearms clasped around Arwen’s neck from behind, jaw resting on the redhead’s shoulders. Her eyes are puffy and orange. It was pretty easy to assume what she had been going through. Meanwhile, the other three flick their ears and tails in a way that was most likely a greeting, but that was just me making an inference based on this being our first interaction, and them not giving waves in greeting.
I really need to learn Gojid and Venlil body language.
“Just delivering the rest of that one Gojid’s friends.” Arwen’s tone was the general cheerful tone it always was. She briefly stepped back from the door and swung an arm to the side, pointing to the three aliens behind her, doing so while under the weight of Tova.
“Barlim,” one of the Gojid said to Arwen. “My name is Pragh,” she then pointed over to another Gojid, “That’s Tack, and,” she indicated to the final Gojid, “That is Telg.” Again, the other two Gojid gave very similar flicks of the ears when they glanced at me with one of their eyes. “I take it you’re Jaxton?”
I couldn’t resist the urge to curl my lips upwards in a smile. The three Gojid didn’t flinch when I exposed my teeth, for which I was grateful. I really didn’t feel like bowing to more people than I needed to at the moment, having not gotten a particularly great amount of sleep last night was not a wise idea. “You’d be correct. It seems I’m the popular man of the hour. What can I do for you all?”
“Well, Tack and I were simply following Barlim, so we were going to stay with her until the UN or whoever really controls the whole Gojid refugee camp situation comes looking for us-”
I cut off Pragh with an amused tone. “So let me get this straight. You wanna come and mooch off my family for a bit because you have nowhere to stay at the moment?” I hold my tongue for just the slightest second, letting Gojid raise up her paws defensively. Even Arwen’s eyes widen briefly at what I just said.
“That’s not-” Pragh doesn’t speak for long before I dismissively wave my hand.
“I’m joking, yes, I’m sure my parents will allow you to stay for a bit, but you’ll have to clean up after yourselves, and all that stuff.” I lean up against the doorframe. “Ok though, jokes aside, what do you all want?”
Pragh rubbed her paws over her blue ears. “Yes, well, you did sort of hit one of them. I will admit, there was very little planning other than we’re going to Wales on our part. You don’t have to worry about Telg though.”
“I scored myself a date! Hah!~ So, I will be going back to Georgia in about an hour or two.” The Gojid paused, popped open one of the pockets on his hoodie, and took a peek inside at a slip of paper he pulled out. “Two hours, yeah, I have about an hour to spend here. So you and Tack are going to stay here?”
Pragh nodded to Telg’s words. “Yep, someone has to make sure Barlim continues to be a responsible Gojid. Also, I still have more research to do over the internet-”
“Ah yes, research, Pragh, research, am I right?~
“No! Not that! I’m not going to be looking up that!
The two male Gojid couldn’t help but hold back giggles and chitters, making me feel as if I was missing some sort of- Oh. The second it clicked for me, I just let out a long, slow sigh. “Please, let me just say that humanity is probably not whatever you found. Factory farms are a thing of the past.” Apparently, I was wrong, for the other two Gojid started laughing more uproariously, “Ok, I’m wrong it seems…” The gears proceeds to click a second time after realizing it was something a lot more bawdy than damning. I opened my mouth to say something but quickly realized that I wouldn’t have anything to follow up on if one of them decided to make any sort of accusation, so I quickly shut my plan to speak about that down. “How about you all just come inside now? Your friend Barlim already came by, and I’m pretty sure you all would like a break from your adventure.”
“Actually, Trvi and I were going to take Tova to my home. Might take her to the hospital if Quilix has calmed down. God, I wished they transported him to Ysbyty Gwynedd, but no. He had a freakout and had to be moved to London.”
“It’s all my fault…” The dark venlil whined.
Arwen’s hand managed to work its way between Tova’s ears, giving a few scritches. Scritches that Tova nuzzled into. “Come on you big, big venlil. I know you’re upset. Just, hang in there for a little while longer. I’m sure Quilix will come around. Let’s take you home, see ya Jaxton!” Arwen waved and carried the venlil toward the parked taxi in front of my house. Well, carried was a generous term for half-carry/half-assisted in guiding toward the car.
Trivi followed seconds later, giving his own bye and wave. “Tell your mother and father I said hi, see you tomorrow!” And with that, the blonde venlil scampered off, following after his human lover.
This left me with the three other hedgehog-looking aliens standing awkwardly in front of my door. They looked amongst themselves, thinking about saying something.
Wait, someone’s missing…
“Arf! Arf!”
The three Gojid who looked like they were about to say something all jumped about a foot in the air when Lacey came bounding through them, running straight past me into my home. “Oh, Lacey! Welcome ho- Oh, and ignored.” I shake my head upon hearing the following oof that comes from my father. Lacey must’ve claimed my father’s lap as her seat. “Well, if you want to come inside and meet the rest of my family. Come right on in.”
The next few minutes are filled with more pleasantries being exchanged. The Gojid all take their place on the couch, somehow managing to fit four of them on a couch meant for three. I end up choosing to stand by my father, who gently strokes Lacey across her back. The border collie panting jovially, looking back and forth between us and our alien guest, giving the occasional bark to beg for more attention.
The Gojid guests seem calm for the most part, sitting on that couch, but it is quite clear that the dog makes them uncomfortable since they flinch every time Lacey either makes a noise or stares at them with those heterochromatic eyes. “Not a fan of dogs, are you?” My father breaks the silence once it starts up again.
“I didn’t like…” Pragh started but stopped seconds later. “Listen, I believe you know why most Federation species don’t like humans, right?” Pragh’s words earned an affirmative grunt from my father. My mother and I nodded too. “Well, you’re all sapient and in control of your hunting instincts…” I raised my eyebrow at that but chose to say nothing. “That dog though-”
My father raised a hand, telling Praph to stop speaking for a moment. “I am going to have to stop you right there. Firstly, humans don’t, or we believe don’t have hunting instincts, and secondly, Lacey is a good girl that has harmed no person before, human or alien. I can assure you, as well as Quilix, Trivi, and Tova, that Lacey wouldn’t harm any of you, your pups, or anything else you will be worried about.”
Those few calmly spoken, but sternly voiced words are enough to calm the four Gojid down a fair amount. While I can’t see their muscles under their fur all that well, I can safely assume that their muscles grew lax at such information. Maybe we can do more to ease them around the dog while they’re here?
With an idea springing to mind, I take a few steps over to our old wooden hall tree. It is adorned with a few coats and hats, but what I am interested in is blue colored, six feet long rope of dog leash. The second it makes the lightest noise, Lacey is bolting toward me. “Eistedd!” The dog swiftly responds to the command: Hind quarters hitting the ground the second the word leaves my lips. I reach down and stroke the top of the dog’s head with one hand, getting a jovial arf out of her. “Merch dda, merch dda.~” I give the dog’s head a little bit more tender love with my palm and fingers before attaching the leash.
“Cefn.” I keep my voice low, coaxing Lacey into walking toward the couch.
The four Gojid, three of which have probably spent some time outside with the dog, all had a similar reaction when the dog came over: Paws came up off the ground, retracting safely onto the cushions above. It wasn’t really out of the border collie’s reach, but it was clearly instinctual-driven or propaganda-driven fear. “No need to be afraid, she won’t bite you - eistedd.” True to my words, Lacey gets close, sniffing along the edge of the sofa, but not jumping up onto the furniture.
“I see you’ve been practicing, Jaxton. You showing off for the guest?” My dad jokes.
“Hey, I don’t really get a good chance to speak Welsh. Dam- Darn it, really should’ve paid more attention in school. Might go get some lessons so I’m not part of the ten percent that can’t speak it. All I can do is shepherd a dog around, ask for the bathroom, a beer, where am I, and a few other things.” It’s hard not to let out a disappointed sigh. “I need to get off my backside and stop being so lazy.” I pause for one small moment. “And that probably translated for all of them to their native tongue. Doesn’t matter if I say it in English, Welsh, or honestly, Mandarin.”
My old man grins and laughs, leaning his back into the old rocking chair he claimed. My attention returns back to the dog, the fearful porcupine, and three scared hedgehogs.
The first one to reach out if I recall his name is Tack. The Gojid’s claws lightly brush the top of Lacey’s head in a tepid fashion. The dog stares back up at the curious paw; not growling, barking, yipping, biting, or making any sort of fuss that could freak out the apprehensive Gojid. Slowly, Lacey’s tail beings to wag as the curious touching continues for a few seconds. “Is that normal?”
“Mhm… Yes, dogs’ tails wag when they are happy. If she was really happy, she’d jump on you and start licking your face.”
The four Gojid recoiled with what looked like disgust: The thought of a predator’s maw all over their face, tasting them as if they were her next meal was probably what was coursing through their minds. “I think… That’s something I wouldn’t like from a non-sapient creature.” Telg adds in.
He says he doesn’t want it from a non-sapient, but what about a sapient? Oh, what wonderful thoughts this one has. I internally joked.
Both my father and mother let out an audible cough at Telg’s… Well, it could’ve been an indecent statement, or maybe licking was a sign of greeting? There was no way for me to know with my lack of knowledge of Gojid customs.
God damn; Gojid customs, language, body language, and Welsh! That was leaving out Venlil ear and tail signals as well! Too much to learn.
With a gentle nudge, I guide Lacey down the bottom of the couch, letting each Gojid get about a minute or two of bonding time with the goodest of girls. It’s only been a few minutes, but the four could be easily seen relaxing: Tack and Telg are both confident enough to let their paws touch the floor again.
From fearful of anything that ate meat their entire life to sort of fearfully allowing a dog to sniff them, or them to touch a dog, must be leaps and bounds beyond possibility months ago.
“So, you all more comfortable around dogs?”
I get a non-varied amount of reactions: All of them positive to a minor degree, but none are negative or super positive. “Good.”
With such a positive, or well, lacking in a negative reaction from our alien guests. I reach down and unhook the canine’s restraint. No one flinches and Lacey continues to sit for about another few seconds before lazily pacing around the front of the couch, sniffing at paws for some more time before retreating back beside my father’s feet.
“So… What’s the history between humans and dogs?” Pragh was the one that shot this question. One is no doubt born from the fact that we probably allowed a non-sapient predator into our home.
Well, if I was using their logic, of course: I wouldn’t be surprised if it came from ‘Wouldn’t predators eliminate the competition?’ if I had to guess.
“The history involving our canine companions is long and complex.” I reach behind my head to adust my blonde ponytail, tightening up the black band to keep my hair from falling in front of my face. “Most domesticated dogs you’ll see; German shepherds, border collies, Australian shepherds, golden retrievers, and on and on the list goes. I believe there are hundreds of breeds, but that is another tangent we can go on another date. What you’re more interested in is the history, as you have asked.”
I took a few steps around toward the front of the couch, using this new position to project my voice onto my alien audience. My parents had already heard this story a few times when they spoke with one of our dog breeders.
“It all started roughly speaking, thirty-thousand years ago.” I paused, totally for dramatic effect, but to also allow the Gojid to digest this fair-sized crumb of information. “Our competitor, an antagonizing species of persistent pack predators with a strong social bond, the wolf, would often invade human territories, and vice versa. You see, humans and wolves aren’t too dissimilar. We’re both highly social species, pursuit pack predators as I have heard, emotionally intelligent, highly adaptive, strong parental connections, and good communication skills. I can go into specific details another time, but those are some of the big traits we share. I’d say that the large preference for having a social structure coupled with good communication skills on both sides were the two assets that helped the most. Emotional intelligence and actual intelligence would probably be third and fourth. Dogs and wolves can be pretty smart.”
I take a moment again, allowing my audience to follow along with what I am saying, waiting to see if any of them have a question. “So due to these similarities, humans and these wolves cross species’ barriers?” The bipedal porcupine opined.
I nod to Barlim’s question. “Very close, but not quite.” I take a moment to swing a pointing finger down to Lacey. “I mean, as much as I love Lacey. I don’t see a dog diplomat coming through any time soon to argue for their sapience let alone an alliance.” I then straighten my posture back up, holding back a small laugh by letting a grin stretch across my lips. “It was more along the lines of wolves were desperate for food, and they’d feed off the scraps we humans left behind. This would go on for some time with the braver or more docile canines being allowed to slowly integrate with human society.”
“But they’re eating your scraps and food, but what do they do for you? Other than herd sheep? It just seems like your competition is swooping your food from under your nose, but… You’re not complaining at all.” Pragh was the one to ask that question.
Called it!
“These proto-dogs had many purposes! Just look at Lacey and you can probably see what she has that is superior to a human. Tell me what traits you can see.”
I give the four Gojid some time to look over the dog. They eventually look like they all have something to say, so I slide down the line of them; Pragh, Telg, Tack, and then finally Barlim.
“A better sense of smell to hunt for prey you can’t see?” Pragh opined.“Better hearing for locating threats?” Telg questioned.
“Sharp teeth and claws for fighting off other humans.” Tack would state rather confidently.
“To form an emotional connection with and to not feel lonely?” Barlim tilted her head to the side, giving the dog another look.
I let them stew over their answers for about thirty seconds to discuss amongst themselves. Needless to say, I was kind of shocked, but also not by Barlim’s answer. Maybe my time spent with her gave me some subconscious understanding of her mentality? The other Gojid all looked at her, so I assume her different answer probably made something click amongst all of them.
“Well, to answer your questions; yes, yes, yes, and yes. You’re all correct. Some may say that the first three are probably the priority.” This statement earns a chitter from the four Gojid occupying the couch. “But I like to have hope for that last one: When you’re by yourself. The world is a scary place after all. It’s best not to be alone. I believe you all have herds? Well, we humans have families, tribes, or nations, depending on how deep you wish to look into it, and yes, dogs can be a part of a human family. Family cares not from where the blood comes.”
“Quick question and not to side-track the conversation too far, but I was told by my date that humans dislike being called predators. Is that true here too, or was that a dialect or cultural thing?” Telg was the one throwing this question.
“It is that way here too. When humans refer to other humans as predators, it is because that other human is a gross pervert that does horrific, deviant, and sexual things toward other people, animals, or in this case now that aliens exist, aliens, so I would refrain from calling humans predators unless you personally know the individual and they are ok with it. That being said, humans define predator as more of a relationship adjective when between animals. A deer is a predator to plants as a wolf is a predator to a deer. It is the relationship of consumption rather than dietary traits.” I finish off my statement with a nod.
“Well… If you don’t mind me referring you to as a predator for one statement…” Telg droned on.
I take a brief glance over toward my parents. My dad gives me a nonchalant shrug. My gaze returns back to Telg. “Go ahead and shoot your question or statement at me.”
The four Gojid look stunned for a moment, off-put by something I said-
Oh, don’t tell me ‘shoot’ was predatory… Probably was.
“Just… throw out your question.”
“It was more of a statement, actually, but anyways. Family cares not from where the blood comes, has to be one of the most herd-like statement I have heard from a predator.”
Did he really just say that?
He really did, but I can’t fault him. From his point of view, he’s been spun so many times that up is down, and left is right.
I shake my head, lowering it. A small chuckle slipping from between my lips. I could even hear my mother and father laughing behind me a few seconds later.
“Was what I said really that funny?”
“No, just the logic behind it is kinda funny. Like I said, humans don’t normally refer to ourselves as predators, and this whole alien thing is kind of new to me.” My words carried upon by a light tone earns some laughs as well from our Gojid guests.
I clap my hands together, signaling the end of our little tangent. “Now, if I may resume my, if I do say so myself, informative explanation… The proto-dogs seamlessly integrated into our small tribes at the time; they could track threats and prey miles before we were even aware of them, they could hear the smallest sounds and alert us of their dangers. Moreover, their sharp teeth and claws served as deterrents against other threats such as large carnivores, food-stealing rodents, or hostile human forces. Additionally, their companionship provided solace to lonely humans. As you can see,” I pointed back to Lacey, who was having her back rubbed by my father’s sock-covered foot, “Lacey seems to be enjoying herself quite nicely, but so is my father. In short, interacting with dogs triggers the release of feel-good chemicals in both human and canine brains. Activities such as petting, snuggling, and playing contribute to this positive bond."
Again, I pause, giving everyone some time to follow along. “Thus, they’d impact our evolution and vice versa: Humans that had dogs in their tribes were more successful than tribes without dogs. Humans that bonded more effectively with their canine companions would get even farther. As millennia went by, humans would get better at reading dog expressions, and dogs would get better at reading human expressions.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I typed into it for a bit until an old photo of a wolf showed up. I turned my phone’s screen toward the four Gojid. “Here you can see a wolf. They aren’t extinct due to some wildlife restoration efforts, but we had a few close calls. Wolves are extinct in the UK and Ireland as of now, but not in North America, Europe, or Asia. What you see before you are what thirty-thousand years of evolution has done to us.”
Based on the look that the Gojid were giving me. I would guess it was along the lines of wow.
“Now, before you start asking more questions. I should let you know that humanity has not only domesticated one carnivorous species, but a few others as well; some birds of prey like falcons, felines, and mustelidae such as ferrets. Meanwhile, on the herbivorous side, we have horses, elephants, rabbits, and so on. Yeah, it’s quite a long list. Means more animals for us to pet and touch. Humans can bond with just about anything, even non-living things, but that’s a story for another time.”.
I perform a small stretch, feeling my back pop. A small break in the monotony of speaking for so long.
“Now, to go back to the human-dog bond. I should remind myself to tell you the story of Gelert. It’s quite a sad story, but bear with me for just a moment.”
I clear my throat, getting ready to speak out an old Welsh folklore myth.
“A long time ago, a prince of North Wales by the name of Llywelyn went out hunting without his trusty dog, Gelert. He’d return home later that day to see Gelert, covered in blood, jovially returning to him. This freaked out the prince, who rushed to his son’s crib, finding it knocked over and messy with blood. He feared that the dog had killed his son and immediately plunged his sword into the dog’s side.” The four Gojid wince at the description, having just been told of the forged bond I have described moments ago. “The dog’s pained cry heralds the cry of the prince’s infant son, who lay on the other side, protected from a slain wolf. Gelert had valiant fought to protect Llywelyn’s son from the wolf, and in so was rewarded with a blade through its heart! A tragic tale to discourage impulsive thoughts and rash rushes to judgment. It was said that the prince buried Gelert and never smiled again.”
I never considered myself a great storyteller, but somehow I managed to get the four Gojid all teary-eyed. Barlim was rubbing at her eyes once again, and so was Tack too.
“H-how could he have done that to the dog..?” Barlim’s meek voice trailed off.
“Well, as said, Llywelyn thought Gelert killed his son. It was a rash decision. This moral folklore is supposed to warn against such tragedies, speaking of which, isn’t there an extermination fleet heading this way?”
While I may have been speaking for so long, having taken all our attention away from the potential destruction of Earth, or the general mopey attitude that came from meeting Tova. It probably was wise to bring up the fact that armageddon was on its way to Earth.
The four Gojid just sort of looked down sheepishly at the ground or flicked their ears in a way that probably meant the same thing. I didn’t really mean to put them on the spot like that, considering it was some of their former allies committing this attack, but I guess that’s just how the cookie crumbles sometimes.
“I think I can speak for all of us here that we don’t-” Telg was interrupted by my father.
“We don’t blame you, or at least I can attest to myself, my son, and my wife over here. One day, assuming we survive this looming catastrophe. There will be regret, followed by hope, and then love and compassion once again. Though, I don’t think that’s what my son was hinting toward, more over the fact that your allies are about to make a rash decision they don’t understand. Probably one you would have made years ago, but that doesn’t really matter here, or there. We live in the now, and I think it’s time we started stocking up on some goods for our cellar. Well, we got goods actually, and a couple of guns too, but nothing fancy like the Americans and all their machine guns. A .30-30 lever action, an old .44 revolver, a twelve gauge shotgun, and a .22 hunting rifle. Nothing fancy,” he shrugs and grunts. “I’m more worried about my sheep. The best we can do is pray they don’t shoot the barn.”
There’s a brief silence as the seven of us come down from the long monologue that was dispersed between moments of questionnaires. I rub one of my eyes, stretching my jaw open wide in a hand-covered yawn.
How long have by been talking?
“Sprak! I gotta go or I am going to miss my flight!” Telg clamors, quickly hopping off the couch. He quickly taps at his phone with his claws, making his way toward the front door. “See you guys later, and thanks for letting us stay! Yes, I know how to call a taxi!” He opens the door and bolts outside. At least had the manners to close it back without slamming it.
This left us with three Gojid!
“Well,” my mother stood up from her chair. “I’m certain you’re all hungry after such a long adventure, and Telg is probably too, but he’s gone already. Let me see if I can make you all something to eat…” She hesitates for a second before continuing. “Nothing with meat or animal products in it. Just vegetables and fruit,” she iterates before walking off to the kitchen, leaving my father and I with the three Gojid.
You know, that leaves one important question that’s been on my mind. One that I had asked Barlim, but have been quickly distracted by her onslaught of sudden tears due to my forgetful nature. “A quick question if I may have your attention.”
The three Gojid turned their attention toward me, looking at me as they awaited my question
“How the hell did you all get here?”
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2023.06.06 13:37 Forsaken-Pianist-165 Tread skips during all out

Running my all out this morning at 12mph and my tread decided to skip. Knee damn near buckled and I somehow didn’t eat it. Recovered fine but couldn’t have been an ACL year with the way it just stopped on me.
Just curious, is orange theory responsible if I were to get hurt on a malfunctioning tread? Or do they get away with it in the fine print when you sign up.
submitted by Forsaken-Pianist-165 to orangetheory [link] [comments]


2023.06.06 13:30 WrecksOfTheDay 27 [F4R] Italy/Online - Looking for a friend interested in dog training or currently raising a puppy.

Hi there! So I just got a new puppy and I am knee deep in training and taking care of her, and she's pretty much all I've got going these days (which is absolutely fine by me, I wanted a puppy for a reason).
However, I don't want to spam the people I know with constant talk of dogs and dog training, so I thought maybe it'd be worthwhile to post here and see if I could find anyone else who either has dogs they love to train or who is just an enthusiast who would love to talk about training with me and hear all my little updates.
I can promise you'll get tons of pics of my adorable pup, and I would love to see pics of yours.
Anyone wanna chat? Hit me up!
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2023.06.06 12:50 Ralfop Knee Brace This patented pressure pad in the brace applies targeted pressure to the specific point that provides back pain relief. The Knee Brace will reduce back pain. It is easy and quick to apply! You can put it on the left or right leg. The best of all, it's super discreet and can be easily hid

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2023.06.06 11:57 ruaryrumors Raphael Narco

I'm walking through a pathway of fire trees in full bloom and the bright colors remind me of your red hair. Isn't it so strange how i see you in all the little things?
days ago, I saw a purple sunset and had to stop in the middle of crowd to take it all in. You used to send me beautiful sunset photos that you took.
In the mall, I found a silver bracelet that's shaped like a human spine and I almost wanted to buy it for you. It's silver and goth and it's something related to anatomy. I think you would've loved it.
i remember everything – how you hated moray eels, and disliked blue balloons how you'd put lipgloss on your lips (it's clear gloss! you'd even argue.) how you can't drink soda because it upsets your stomach how you said if I was a plant, I'd look like a red spider lily or lirio do vale how you can't sleep without hugging your pink dinosaur teddybear eventhough you're all six foot goth dressed in black. (it was the cutest thing.) barreado. açaí ice cream. those gun figures you'd made from beer cans. how you're colorblind and pink is one of the brightest colors you see. miss how you'd call me princess and putinha.
you wanting to take a fireman course because you saw how sad your father got when a fireman walked by and he didn't graduate that course.
you getting so angry and protective over your friend Ed when he went back to this dude he used to like and you just wanted him to not be in that abusive situation anymore.
you saying how you visited a children's hospital during your nurse shift and saw all those kids playing with bags attached and needles and how despite their situation, they were still having fun and it made you happy.
the wounds on your inner cheek from your braces, the asymmetrical sleepy eyes you have in the morning, the long fluffy curly messy hair that you hate so much but i love, the scar on your upper lip that you got from a dog bite.
you were so beautiful i sometimes think you were unreal. you were the most beautiful man I've seen. i wanted to hold your face in the morning light and caress it softly.
you were so patient and gentle and tender. on times i disappear and weren't doing well mentally, I get confused why you still wait for me. because everyone always leave when i have nothing good to offer them, and you said i'm stupid. garotinha boba. you said it was love. how even if i disappear, you'd wait. it was one of the only times i felt warmth.
did you know how i got so disappointed at myself that last times that we talked? i lashed out on you. i accused you. i said, you lied to me. and it hurts how i became the very thing i never wanted to become.
i remember how much it scarred me when you said you felt scared like a little kid, that you felt cornered into a wall. to this day, i'm still ashamed of what i said. and i want to say i'm sorry. for everything. for being so volatile, for disappearing, for never being a safe space even on the last times we talked. i wanted to be like you – gentle and patient and understanding. but instead, i got so possessive. and loving someone shouldn't be about being possessive but allowing them the space to grow. i wanted to love you in that way. for you to never feel suffocated, for you to feel warm and safe enough to be yourself.
you might probably never read this. but I wanted to write it anyway and celebrate what happened and mourn what will never be. i want you to know that in that short time, all of it meant everything to me. it was real for me. i remember being so happy coming home everyday knowing you'd wake up and you'd get all needy for love and how i wish it would never end. it was platonic for you but for me, it meant more than being friends. i'm really happy i met you that December 24th in the stupid pixelated pony game.
but really, i want you to know I'll never stop being proud of you. if you eat three meals a day know that i'm proud of you. if you only smoke three cigarettes a day (three because three words: i love you) know that i'm proud of you. if you wake up and still go to work and study despite not feeling anything, know that i'm proud of you.
and in the days when you feel like you can't do those things anymore or you're not making progress, know that i endlessly believe in you. i love you eventhough I never knew what it's like to be loved. remember violet evergarden? that's what it felt like.
i miss you more the more i grow - when do you think it would stop hurting? i carry the ache of your absence everywhere i go. but the hurt is worth remembering. you are worth remembering. I love you.
– your forever short ass, N.
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2023.06.06 10:28 Ralfop 360 SUPPORT KNEE PAD BRACE Your knee is the most important joint that holds most of your weight. It is crucial for your movement and massive forces act on your knees every day. If your mobility is limited or if you want to stabilize and protect your knees we have the right product for you! The SUPPO

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2023.06.06 09:03 RusteNailz Training for a marathon with both torn ACLs?

Hi everyone, first of all sorry if this sounds like an absolutely dumb question. It very well could be and that’s why I want to consult those of you who actively train for long distance running. I would like to signup for a local marathon in March 2024.
Back in 2015 i tore my right acl playing basketball and actually tore my left acl in July 2022. Between the 7 year span in between the 2 injuries and from 2022 to today, I have managed to stay pretty darn active. I run basketball games 1-2 times a week for a couple hours at a time and have a naturally leaneskinnier build. I am athletic and have great endurance.
Despite the fact that I’ve managed to come this far with minor physical limitations, do you suppose that training for a marathon in my condition is a bad idea? Will the 26 mi distance be overbearing on my knees? Would love to hear thoughts.
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2023.06.06 08:55 aaronjaffe Thanks fellow Denver people

My energy was at a low point tonight.
I’ve been struggling with some health issues, and on top of that I found out this morning I’ve been walking around with two torn meniscus’s in my knee and torn cartilage in my shoulder.
Almost didn’t show up tonight. But I thought, “Hell, no. I will drag myself out of bed and summon energy like a damned lighting rod.”
I did not (summon energy that is).
Barely managed to stay upright leaning against the ATM at the back of Summit (Hank the cow dog would’ve been appalled at my positioning relative to the stage). And when Harry was calling for us to put our hand up I was like, “I’m sorry Harry, I can not put hands, plural, up. I can put hand, singular, up which may jeopardize my already precarious balance. So I decline.”
Fucking bummer.
So thanks to every who went for being electric tonight. Couldn’t really join in but I got some contact sparks — a little positive charge to keep me going. Much appreciated.
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2023.06.06 07:19 RIPMiuraSensei I have a loose plan for this and want to see where it goes. (Reupload)

Chapter 1 - Stranger
When Daglan woke up that morning he didn't see anything unusual. He had awoken from a drop of water falling from the ceiling as he did many mornings. His best friend Rozere was in the kitchen with her father cooking what smelled of eggs. The sun was shining through the cracks in the curtains and holes in the walls as it always did. What felt different? Then he heard voices outside, voices that grew louder and louder. At this point Rozere and her father Koshu had heard the commotion as well and stepped outside to see what it was. Daglan hastily followed suit, after finding his tunic and boots.
Lying on the ground outside was a young man, no older than 25. He lay face up in the dirt wearing only baggy purple pants and a black conical hat covering his face. His long black hair seemed to be tied at the base of his head in a long spiky ponytail, his slender muscular body was covered in dozens of battle scars, and at his waist was a black katana with its sword tied firmly inside its sheath. Almost the entire town had crowded around him, murmuring and shifting anxiously. It wasn't often people arrived in town, mostly just traders on their way to and from Inoris, and that too was a rarity.
"Back now people, give this man some room! And for the love of Reza, quiet!" Barked Doc Silvis as she pushed through the crowd. She immediately knelt down and felt his neck with her fingers. She paused for a moment and gave a very annoyed sigh, slapping away his hat. "He's alive alright. This dumbass is sleeping in the street." She gave the stranger a hard slap across the face, one that would have probably knocked him out, had he been awake. The crowd watched in awe as he yawned and scratched his nose, barely affected by Silvis.
"What should we do?" Someone asked.
"Do you know who he is?" Asked another.
As the murmurs heighted Daglan could tell Silvis was getting fired up, over the years Daglan had gotten to know Silvis quite well, with all his escapades outside the town walls. Daglan knew better than anyone that Silvis hated when a patient ignored her, and more so when she had to repeat herself.
"I said quiet! Don't you lazy bums have more important things to do?! Livani! Koreso! Aren't you two on watch?! Scram the lot of you!" A wave of fear crashed down upon the crowd and everyone began to disperse. All but Daglan, as Rozere pulled on his sleeve.
"Come on Daglan," she hissed, keeping an eye on Silvis like she was some wild animal, "You don't want to make her angrier."
"I'll be fine," he whispered, without looking back, his eyes stuck on the sleeping man. What was this feeling? It was like the feeling he got when Silvis healed his wounds, but not as warm. Almost closer to the feeling he got when abominations were near, when he ventures past the walls, but not as malicious. Before he knew it he was kneeling next to Silvis, watching her run her hand across his body, her hands glowing faintly, his curiosity bubbling.
"He isn't cursed or hypnotized, I can't feel a single thing wrong with him. I do believe this man is really just asleep, and slept through a slap in the face." Silvis sighed. After a few moments she looked at Daglan with a tired smile, then frowned. "Thanks for being quite Daglan, now since you're gonna bum around, get to work hauling this bastard back to my infirmary and don't let him out of your sight. I want to know as soon as he wakes up."
Daglan looked around to ask Rozere for help but she was already gone, how long had he been watching this stranger and Silvas? He looked down at the smiling, snoring face of the stranger, scooped under his arms, and with much difficulty began dragging the older, bigger boy to the infirmary.
The infirmary was quiet today, there hadn't been a major abomination attack in quite a few weeks which didn't happen often. It wasn't long before Rozere came in with a grimace on her face and her fingers on her nose.
"Honestly," she said in that strange nasally voice when you hold your nose, "I hate how much time you make me spend here. Between you getting hurt and my dad making me help Silvas, I can't get away!" She plopped down next to him and sighed. "So what's with this guy? Why are you still here with him?"
"Silvas asked me to watch him and tell her when he wakes up. Apparently I can't let him leave till she talks to him." He shrugged, trying more to convince himself. She eyed him suspiciously, but immediately dropped the subject.
"Did you notice his sword was tied closed? I wonder what that's about?" She reached out and placed a hand on his sword, and just then the weird energy the stranger gave off changed from similar to those of the abominations , to even scarier than anything he'd ever felt from them. Rozere fell to her knees and screamed as the stranger stood over her. When had he stood up?! Daglan shot to his feet, a smile ripping across his face as excitement crackled through his body. He prepared to defend his friend, when just as quickly as the evil energy had manifested, it disappeared. In fact the feeling Daglan had been getting from the stranger had all but subsided completely.
He stared at Daglan and Rozere with a confused look. When Rozere had eventually stopped screaming, Daglan held out his hand to help her up. Daglan’s mind raced with questions but could he do nothing but stare at the stranger as he stared back.
“Uh, hello-” he began and just then Silvas and Koshu burst through the door with Livani and Koreso close behind. Koshu sprang in between Rozere and the stranger, towering over him.
"What did you do to my daughter!" He said through gritted teeth. The stranger scratched the back of his head and opened his mouth when Rozere spoke up,
"It was nothing dad, he just woke up and scared me! Look at me I'm fine, now would you stop!" But Koshu didn't flinch, not until Silvas spoke up.
"Back off Koshu, Rozere is right, she's fine, and this boy is obviously no danger at the moment." He mumbled something under his breath but did as he was told . "Yeah, listen to Silvas and not me." Rozere grumbled, crossing her arms.
"Now listen here young lady, you will show your aunt some resp–" Koshu began but Silvas smacked him in the back of the head.
"Now isn't the time, Koshu, take her and go," she glared at the stranger, who was still smiling awkwardly and scratching the back of his head.
“Everyone out, now.”
"Uh, where am I? He eventually stammered.
"Daglan, out." Silvas said forcefully, without taking her eyes off the stranger. As well as Daglan knew Silvas, he'd never seen her this worked up, not even about the abominations . She was so strong-willed, so much more than anyone else in town. He had heard stories about Silvas, but only bits and pieces around town, probably all made up. Still there was one he heard more than others, he had heard before she lived in Graybarrow she had fought in some kind of war.
Daglan sat outside the infirmary trying to hear as much as he could. Wondering what could have gotten Silvas so worried, and if that man was even human. He could barely hear anything, mostly Silvas's mumbled questioning and the nervous laughter of the stranger. As he sat and pondered, an extremely tall, wide shouldered man sat down next to him and lit a cigarette. He had a long thick mustache that covered his upper lip but came down on the sides past his chin, and scruffy brown hair that stuck up at weird angles.
"Oh, hi Mr.Lucio." Daglan said as he pretended to have not been eavesdropping.
"I haven't seen you in class," he said as he blew out a cloud of smoke, "and I don't often see you hanging around here by choice." He continued to puff his cigarette as they sat in silence.
"Mr.Lucio… I can feel him like the abominations and Silvas's healing. What is he?"
"I'm not sure, from what I've heard he sounds human enough. What do you think?"
"I don't know… I think he's human? But why can I feel him?"
"There must be something similar between him, Silvas's healing, and the abominations from the mountains and forest, hmm?"
"I guess so…" They continued to sit in silence until Lucio had finished his cigarette.
"You can always talk to me if you need help, Daglan. You may like getting experience more, but a little book learning can go a long way." He stood up, pressing his cigarette out between his fingers and putting the butt in his pocket. "It's always good to see you, don't be a stranger." He said as he waved his hand walking away. Daglan thought about what Lucio had proposed, something similar. It didn't seem like Silvas or the stranger would be coming out soon so Daglan decided to go home and see what Rozere thought about all this.
When he did get home both Rozere and Koshu were in foul moods, having most likely fought since earlier. Deciding that he'd rather not be part of that, he grabbed his bag and scurried out the front door before Kusho had time to notice.
It's a short walk to the gate, the guards had patched up his last hole in the wall, but he had since come up with another, more thrilling way. Climbing up to the top of the traders hall, he'd be high enough to jump to the wall once the guards had passed. Then it was a quick jump down and a sprint out of their eyesight before he was able to relax. He walked along a path he knew quite well until he came up on a small ladder, it was built into a tree that led up to a small treehouse.
His exploration headquarters as he liked to call it. The inside was small and filled with trash, and his souvenirs from his adventures sat on a roughly made table. A small Salegitti skull, a broken dagger missing its tip, and a small crystal like rock that shown with faint yellow light. Next to them were three well worn books. He picked up the book titled journal and sat on the ground, scribbling furiously with a small piece of charcoal. He then began to study the other two, older, bigger books. One titled, Abominations of Hel’s Peaks, and the other, Creatures of South Shodun. Mr Lucio was right about book learning, but he liked his own books.
Back in town Rozere was wandering around with her hands behind her head, whistling to herself. “I wonder where Daglan is?” She pondered allowed, before realizing she had stopped in front of Silvas’s office. She stared at the large building with its off-white stone, and massive steel doors. There were various cracks and dents all along the wells and doors, as well as wooden planks over the windows, Silvas called them the clinic’s battlescars, there was nowhere safer to hide in the whole town.
She stared for a long time before realizing there was a man sitting in the grass, a large bottle of alcohol in one hand, and multiple empty bottles sitting neatly by his legs. His long spiky hair was a little cleaner, and the copious amounts of drool were now wiped away. His face was a bright red, and he had a cigarette hanging from his lips. He stared at her with a slight wobble,
“Hey… You're that girl that touched my sword right?” He took another large gulp from his bottle.
“Yeah? What of it?” She asked with defiance, her hands on her hips. He smiled a sickening smile and shot to his feet faster than Rozere could see.
“Why don't you try it again? Or will you simply scream for help? Little girls shouldn’t play with monsters.” He said as he towered over her. “Go ahead.” He lifted his arm in the air so his katana was unblocked. Rozere’s knees began to shake and a lump formed in her throat but she did not look away. She was an ant, and this man was a giant. She wasn't going to back down, but he could stand faster than she could see. Surely dropping his arm even faster would be no problem right? He was right, she wanted to scream, but she stood firm.
“Maybe I will!” She returned his malicious smile and reached out for his sword as fast as she could, bracing for the impact and the horrible crunch of bones as he grabbed her arm and snapped it in half. She flinched as her nerves went off, electric sensations coursing through her fingertips. It's happened! But what she felt wasn't pain, but the hard yet somehow soft grip of a katana hilt. She opened her eyes to see her hand firmly gripping his katana and a much more playful smile somehow even wider across this strange man’s face. He began to laugh loudly as she stumbled backwards and fell. He held out his hand, still giggling a little. She eyed him hard then after a moment smacked his hand away. She stood up, and began to brush herself off, glaring at him all the while. He apologized in between giggles.
“My name is Noboru, you've got quite the spirit to face me down. What's your name kid?” He asked as he sat back onto the grass and took another long swig from his bottle. Rozere straightened up and looked at him with a fiery gaze.
“Rozere of Grayborrow.” She said, crossing her arms. “And you dont scare me!”
“What are you yelling about Rozere?” Silvas asked as she appeared behind her. “You!” she exclaimed as she saw Noboru “Where did you get all of that from!? Rozere give me a hand and throw away these bottles would you?”
“She's already gone.” Noboru giggled. Silvas spun around to see that Rozere had indeed disappeared, as Noboru began to laugh louder. Rozere could hear the slap from across town as she sat against the traders hall. As she pondered just how big a lump must be on the side of Noboru's face, a ball smacked her’s.
“Hey who did that!?” She demanded as she hoped to her feat, tears forming in her eyes, which she quickly wiped away.
“Oh, sorry Rozere! I didn't mean to! Honest!” Said the boy as he ran up and grabbed his ball off the ground before the evil Rozere could kick it away, her foot swishing in the air. The boy was a few years younger than Rozere, had shaggy blonde hair, a tunic that was two sizes too big for him and a pair of round glasses broken in several spots.
“You better be sorry, pipsqueak!” she said, wiping her eyes and now running nose. “I'll have to beat you up if not!”
“Come on give Vilcus a break he said sorry. What are you doing over here by yourself anyways? Daglan run away again?” Said another girl with little blonde pigtails and red cheeks, as she came up behind Vilcus.
“Hi Meska and no he didn't run away again.” Rozere said, sticking her tongue out. “I just think he went for a walk is all… he'll be back… soon!” She crossed her arms and held her chin up. “Well why don't you come play with us until he gets back?” Meska asked, turning around and walking away, “We are playing dodgeball, maybe you can hit Vilcus in the face.”
“Hey nuh-uh! She won't hit me!” Vilcus persisted as he followed after her. Rozere sniffled, rubbed her nose with her sleeve, and smiled.
“Okay fine, but wait up!” She yelled.
As Daglan walked through the trees, he could feel the malicious energies from abominations all around him, it was making his blood boil. He remembered the stranger looking down at him and Rozere, overflowing with the most malicious intent he had ever felt. A smile began to creep across his face once more, as he could feel something close behind him. He spun around to see a creature he had only seen in books, the sight of which excited and terrified him. 
A giant humanoid creature with a long smooth snake-like torso, and grotesquely elongated arms and legs stood before him. It had a small pair of arms on its hips that bounced as if boneless, and a strange human face. Smooth indents of skin sat where the eyes should be, and it had a beak lined with razor teeth that jutted out at multiple angles. It clicked its tongue and sniffed the air then began to lick its beak with what could only be called a smile.
“What should I call you big fella?” Daglan asked nervously as excitement shot through his body. This wasn't like anything he'd ever encountered in the forest, or during attacks. This creature was much more dangerous. He gritted his teeth and forced an equally disgusting smile, even though he was sure the abomination couldn't see him. He pulled out the dagger he had smithed in secret at Koshu’s forge and dropped his stance lower, lower, lower. The creator was clicking and sniffing in anticipation, no doubt it could feel Daglan’s bloodlust.
Daglan took a slow step forward, then another. The creature's head tilted and it sniffed harder, then in a flash that Daglan couldn’t even see, it lashed out, slashing his shoulder apart. Adrenaline had already made its way to Daglan’s brain and he didn't even feel the warm blood soaking into his tunic or notice his limp arm flailing behind him as he attacked. He rolled under the creature’s arm and slashed at its ribs ripping its open sending its guts pouring out. It screamed in pain and whirled around, but its tall body and long arms whizzed over Daglan’s head. He rolled again, this time in between its legs, slashing at its knee, cutting down to the bone. It screamed again and fell to its knees with a gross squishy thud from one. It twitched and spazzed as it began twisting its body around in a disgusting manner.
Daglan approached cautiously, but the adrenaline had worn off and he looked down at his arm. It was almost completely blue, and the little skin and bone that held his arm to his body squirted copious amounts of blood. There was a blur then he was flying through the brush stopping when he thudden into a tree. His eyes began to blur with red, then black. The last thing he heard was a familiar voice...
“You are by far the most interesting of the bunch. Hey, can you hear me?”
When Deglan awoke he was looking at a ceiling he knew all too well. In a bed he had awoken in many times. But this time he couldn't move. “Silvas! What's happening?! Silvas! Rozere!” Daglan began to thrash when he heard that same voice.
“Hey hey hey! You're going to hurt yourself more than you already have!” When standing over him, blocking the light with his conical hat, was the stranger. “That was a nasty creature you were tangling with out there. I heard you like to fight but I'm guessing you've never seen a lasari before? Ugly things, and not easy to kill with small weapons if you don't know how.”
“I do know how.” Daglan said matter of factly, “They have two brains located behind the eye sockets.”
“Oh-ho-ho,” the stranger smiled maliciously, “ but how do you stop them from reproducing after that?” Daglan went silent for a moment. “What do you mean?"
“Lasari have a fun ability to reproduce from their corpse. Specifically, their heart has two eggs inside that will hatch if it ever stops beating. So to properly kill one you must burn the heart.” He laughed and presumably sat back down, out of Daglan’s eyesight. There was a slight pause and Daglan was about to speak when he heard a gasp and the stranger continued.
“Anyway, you almost lost your arm. Luckily, your doctor and blacksmith were able to fix you up, those two are something else. It'll take some time for your bo-” Daglan cut him off.
“What do you mean I almost lost my arm?! What did they do to me?!” He exclaimed, thrashing, memories of his broken and bleeding arm flashing through his mind.
“If you don't calm down, I will calm you down.” He said forcefully. “I hate babies. I thought you were supposed to be a tough kid? Now anyways it's just me and you here, everyone else is asleep, so please. I know you've heard of the metal prosthetics of this country, Metics, I think they're called? I’ve seen people in town with them. Well your blacksmith had to help your doctor make you a new shoulder.”
“So why are you being so helpful? I don't know you, and you feel the same as an abomination.” “See it's things like that!” He shot back up his face noticeably red.
“You're so interesting! I don't remember how I got here…” He scratched his head for a second, “but boy have I had fun since I've shown up!” Your girlfriend Rozere-”
“She's not my girlfriend, and you leave her alone!” He shouted.
“Well she's fearsome! And you’re so interesting too! Definitely the best five year o-”
“I’m twelve. Rozere is thirteen.”
“Well twelve then. Point is, I like you and your little girly friend, so I thought I'd help out and not let you die.” Then it dawned on Daglan, there was no way a search party found him like when he normally gets in a scap and passes. He had thoroughly lost and was deep in the woods. By all accounts he should be dead. Daglan was so angry he hadn't even thought about what happened afterwards.
“It was you. So what do you want from me? Are you some abomination loo-” This time the stranger cut him off.
“My name is Noboru, the handyman.”
“I've never heard of that species.”
“Well I'm not an abomination, I'm a jack-of-all-trades, so to speak. I travel from place to place making money doing odd jobs. Anyways, you remind me an awful lot of someone I used to know. So don't go throwing your life away against such low level trash as the abominations around here.” Daglan began to feel the intimidating malice from Noboru, almost that of when Rozere had touched his sword. “I know you can feel my energy. Unlike the people of this town, save a few, I think you're gifted.” Then it was gone just as quickly as before. “What do you want, Daglan.” Daglan’s blood was fire and his eyes daggers, piercing the ceiling with determination.
“I want to be remembered.”
“So get out of this town and maybe one day you can fight me, and I’m not even the strongest out there. Come… show this world what you're… made of because I for one… can't wait.” Just then Daglan heard a thud followed by an endless cascade of snores from Noboru.
“Would someone get me out of here!”
submitted by RIPMiuraSensei to fantasywriters [link] [comments]


2023.06.06 07:06 Weird-Fix-7267 He just said hello.

So, its 1 am and this has been my night, right? I'm on this serene Dutch Caribbean island, a little slice of paradise. It's just me (30F) and my buddy Juan (34M). After work, we decide to hang out at my place, unwind, you know the deal. Now, here's where it gets interesting.
A few weeks ago, something really strange happened. It was just me and my sweet dog at home. Out of the blue, she wakes up, fixates on this corner of the room, and starts growling fiercely. Her fur stands on end, and it sent shivers down my spine, honestly. But here's the thing, I didn't mention it to Juan at the time.
Fast forward to one of our breaks, we're chatting away, and I decide to share that eerie dog incident with him. And you won't believe what he tells me, seriously. He casually says, "Oh, those spirits flying around the streets at night? I once saw a dark shadow flying from your place over my car. It wasn't harmful or anything, and it didn't even notice me." Can you believe that?
Now, things have been getting even stranger lately. Objects seem to be moving around in my place, but nothing goes missing, if you catch my drift. And just tonight, I let my dog out into the backyard. Suddenly, around 10:30, she starts barking incessantly, and I didn't want to disturb the neighbors, so I quickly bring her back in. But brace yourself, my friend. At 11 PM, Juan and I are goofing around and having a good laugh in the bathroom when, clear as day, I hear a voice saying, "hello." It had this jovial accent, like an older Rasta gentleman from Nevis or Trinidad. It took me by surprise, to be honest! I look at Juan, silently mouthing, "Who could be outside my bathroom window?" And he's taken aback because he heard a growl, not a greeting. He rushes outside to check, but there's absolutely no one there.
Here's where it gets even more bizarre, my dear. You see, my apartment is situated on a hill, and all our back doors lead to the same path carved into the mountain against a rockwall. Yet, we didn't hear a single sound nearby, and my initial thought was that maybe our next-door neighbor was playing a trick on us, just reminding us of his early morning routine. But, alas, there was no one there, no prankster in sight.
Now, let me tell you, my heart skips a beat when I hear those raspy sounds on the roof late at night...like they are right now. I always blame it on the monkies, iguanas and watchme lizards. However, usually, at this hour, monkeys and iguanas aren't roaming about, so it's quite unsettling. And those taps on the back wall, they keep happening., and the watch mes usually just chirp theyre too small and soft to tap. Juan believes the spirit went up the mountain, and he warned me never to respond with a greeting, as it might invite it inside. According to him, this spirit is a friendly presence, not harboring any ill intentions.
Honestly, my friend, it's unnerving. I'm feeling a bit frightened, and my loyal dog is cuddled up right next to me but keeps jumping off the bed randomly and running to the back door in a charge. I do believe in the paranormal, but that voice was just too clear, you know? It's possible it could've been an intruder or something. This whole situation is playing tricks on my mind, and it's hard not to feel a bit shaken.
Edit. I'm texting my friend now about it. The dog keeps running at the door.
submitted by Weird-Fix-7267 to Paranormal [link] [comments]


2023.06.06 06:58 Ankleandfootcenters A Review on Achilles Tendonitis Treatment

A Review on Achilles Tendonitis Treatment

https://preview.redd.it/kuuw2dwnwb4b1.png?width=604&format=png&auto=webp&s=88cf97435b899887f9d48ba173b9b68eb50931d9
Achilles tendonitis treatment involves various measures to alleviate pain, reduce inflammation, promote healing, and prevent further damage to the Achilles tendon. The Achilles tendon is a tendon situated at the back of the ankle that is connected the calf muscles to the heel bone. When this tendon becomes inflamed or irritated, it leads to Achilles tendonitis, a common condition that can cause discomfort and limited mobility.
Treatments for Achilles Tendonitis
Here are some common treatments for Achilles tendonitis:
  • Rest and Activity Modification: Rest is essential to allow the inflamed tendon to heal. Avoid activities that exacerbate the symptoms and strain the Achilles tendon excessively. Modify your activities and consider low-impact exercises to maintain fitness without causing further damage.
  • Ice Therapy: Apply Ice to the injured region to assist reduce swelling and relieve pain. Apply ice to the Achilles tendon for 15-20 minutes a few times a day using an ice pack or a thin cloth, especially after exercise or when you are in pain.
  • Pain Management: Nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory medicines (NSAIDs), which are available over-the-counter, can treat inflammation and relieve pain. However, it is advised to speak with a healthcare provider before taking any medications.
  • Physical Therapy: The Achilles tendon and surrounding muscles can be strengthened, flexibility can be improved, and recovery can be facilitated by a physical therapist's creation of a specialized training regimen. To speed up the healing process, they could also employ treatments like ultrasound or laser therapy.
  • Orthotics and Supportive Devices:The Achilles tendon can be less stressed by using orthotic devices like heel lifts or shoe inserts, which also offer support when engaging in physical activity. It can also assist to lessen tension on the tendon to wear well fitted shoes with sufficient arch support and cushioning.
  • Stretching and Strengthening Exercises: Specific stretching and strengthening exercises can help improve the flexibility and strength of the Achilles tendon and calf muscles. However, these exercises should be performed under the guidance of a healthcare professional to ensure they are done correctly and safely.
  • Immobilization: In severe cases of Achilles tendonitis, immobilization may be necessary to allow the tendon to rest and heal. It can involve using a walking boot, cast, or brace to restrict movement and protect the tendon during healing.
It's important to consult with a professional healthcare, such as a doctor or physical therapist, for an accurate diagnosis and appropriate treatment plan tailored to your specific condition. They can guide the most suitable treatment options based on the severity of your Achilles tendonitis and individual factors. Early intervention and proper treatment can help relieve symptoms, promote healing, and prevent long-term complications.
How Achilles Tendonitis Exercises Help ?
Achilles tendonitis exercises are specific exercises that can help strengthen the Achilles tendon, improve flexibility, and aid in the recovery process. These exercises are typically prescribed as part of a comprehensive treatment plan for Stretches for Achilles Tendonitis. Still, consulting with a healthcare professional before starting any exercise program is essential to ensure it is suitable for your condition.
What Causes Achilles Tendonitis

Here are some commonly recommended Achilles tendonitis exercises:

  • Calf Stretches: Stand facing a wall with your hands placed against it. Step one foot forward, keeping the knee straight and the other foot slightly back with the knee slightly bent. Lean forward, keeping both heels on the ground until you feel a stretch in your calf muscles. Hold the space for 30 seconds, and then relax. Repeat the stretch 3-5 times on each leg.
  • Eccentric Heel Drops: Stand on the edge of a step or a raised platform with the balls of your feet on the stage and your heels hanging off. Rise on your toes using both feet and then slowly lower the heels down below the level of the action. Repeat this movement for 10-15 repetitions, focusing on the controlled lowering phase of the exercise. Perform 2-3 sets.
  • Towel Scrunches: Sit on a chair with your feet flat. Place a towel on the floor in front of you. Using your toes, scrunch the towel toward you, pulling it closer. Release and repeat for 10-15 repetitions. This exercise helps strengthen the foot and lower leg muscles that support the Achilles tendon.
  • Ankle Range of Motion Exercises: Sit on the floor with your legs straight out before you. Point your toes away from your body and then flex them toward your body, aiming to move your foot through its full range of motion. Repeat this movement for 10-15 repetitions, and perform 2-3 sets.
  • Single-Leg Balance Exercises: Stand on one leg while maintaining your balance. You can use a stable surface or a wobble board to challenge your credit further. Hold the position for 30-60 seconds, then switch to the other leg. Perform 2-3 sets on each leg.
It's crucial to start these exercises gradually and listen to your body. If you experience pain or discomfort during any exercise, stop immediately and consult with a healthcare professional. They can guide proper technique, progression, and additional activities based on your specific condition and needs.
Conclusion
For the best results, remember to combine these exercises with other recommended treatments, such as rest, ice therapy, and appropriate footwear. When done consistently and under professional guidance, Achilles tendonitis exercises can contribute to the healing process and help prevent future recurrences. Visit Here.
submitted by Ankleandfootcenters to u/Ankleandfootcenters [link] [comments]


2023.06.06 05:36 Alfred_Love_Song The basics for a beginner

Was trying to find more on here as I plan to take golf lessons and perhaps get into this as a long term hobby. So had a few questions on it.
  1. Whats an avg cost of lessons? Plan to take lessons 2 times a week.
  2. What should I expect in lessons?
  3. Usually Will they provide equipments? (Some places I called charged for renting it during the lesson)
  4. How much should I plan to save / invest if it take this up as a hobby (1-2 times a week)
  5. I dont plan to get a membership at a club right now but should I?
  6. What are the reasons people give up on this as a hobby
  7. I have slighter weaker than avg knees so bit worried about the leg / knee twisting situation in swings. (ACL, meniscus repair and removal in last 6-12 months)
About me 1. 42 f, Single, No kids 2. Depends on the cost mostly but I think I can make this work in terms of investment in the long run of I actually stick to it. 3. Live in bay area (the city)
submitted by Alfred_Love_Song to golf [link] [comments]


2023.06.06 05:06 rippydippytrippy How long did you wear the dial brace?

Torn acl, mcl, and meniscus. Been doing pre-op pr for about 6 weeks now. Currently wearing the dial brace, and I’m curious to see how long others have had to wear it for.
submitted by rippydippytrippy to ACL [link] [comments]


2023.06.06 04:51 200lbs2Lose Best Tips for Ortho “Start-Up Pain”

36F. No chronic medical conditions. 275lbs.
Any advice on best routine/remedies/topical creams for “start-up” pain in the morning, or after sitting a while? Things to do while sitting to decrease the pain/inflammation.
Pain is in an injured knee (see below for details) and a non-injured ankle on that same leg.
Experiencing Patellofemoral Syndrome when squatting/doing certain PT exercises. Not when just walking/standing.
Not interested in pills for masking the pain - only if Tylenol/etc helps the inflammation/cause of start-up pain.
———-
Details of my actual injury, if interested: I am 14 weeks post full knee dislocation. Femur pushed through 6” of my calf muscles. Full PCL, ACL, MCL tears. Grade 2 LCL sprains healed by week 8. No breaks/fractures. No vasculature damage. No major nerve damage - just sensation loss in the calf.
I am the luckiest person I know. No surgery (for now, if my knee keeps healing). I’m walking (okay, hobbling) with a brace, but my distance is very limited, my knee just gets too “tired” after a few hours.
My ortho surgeon confirmed today, I’m feeling “start-up” pain, not some other issue. Under the care of a PT - would love to have a few things to discuss with him this week to address the start-up pain.
submitted by 200lbs2Lose to AskDocs [link] [comments]


2023.06.06 04:17 ThumperPlease 30 [M4F] NY/Anywhere - Decent conversation, maybe gaming, maybe more?

Let's get the pictures/voice clip out of the way immediately so you know if I'm your type or not right? And to treat you with my adorable kitty.
Me rambling (Apologies for any lip smacking sounds): https://voca.ro/1kLnOwDOgAE8
Face sniffer extraordinaire: https://imgur.com/AClSOtd
I'm not as serious as I look, I swear: https://imgur.com/a/CBLxCCx
Nothing like a cat butt on your head while trying to sleep: https://imgur.com/kA3iiVV
Just a pic of the cute kitty: https://imgur.com/a/TDQvhYz
ANYWAY. I'm Michael. I'm a single guy from New York (Not the city) looking for love or at least someone that will play games with me(PC). I'd ideally like someone that's empathetic, is into gaming(Not a must), animals, and voice chatting. I've noticed over the years that it's difficult to find people that put effort into communication, so it'd be nice to find someone that does.
To describe myself? I'd say I'm empathetic, easy going, talkative, competitive, and direct. I say how I feel and focus on communicating with my partner the best I can. As a partner; I'm nurturing, considerate, and affectionate. I want to make YOU happy because that would make me happy. My love languages would be all of them. I don't know how people can pick just a few. I like to do everything for the person I'm with.
When I'm not gaming; I like to exercise, play tag with my cat, watch horror movies, go for walks,, sing to myself, and practice doing voices cus that's fun for me.
Anywho, The games I'm currently playing (I'm open to most games tbh, so if you don't play these, that's okay!):
But yeah if you're looking for someone that's emotionally available, can cook, won't ghost you, and will spam you with pics of a very cute orange cat, I'm your guy. So, if my face appeals to you, send a message (if it isn't buggy) and tell me a bit about yourself! We might not fall in love or anything but I'll probably make you laugh at least once.
Thanks for reading 🙂
submitted by ThumperPlease to r4r [link] [comments]


2023.06.06 04:14 Physical-Egg-666 Growing up as a Chinese adoptee (24F) in a racist family in the South

(I am just venting about a unique situation I suppose. I was wondering if anyone else feels the way I do. FOR CONTEXT: I grew up in a low socioeconomic and rural town that primarily specialized in deep fried southern food and cotton fields. This meant that, in typical manner of small town America, no one ever really leaves. My mom, dad, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents all attended the same high school as me. One of my childhood friend’s grandmother was the person who signed off on my parents’ marriage license. (I did not know that fact until my mom showed me their old marriage certificate several years later and I saw the familiar looking last name of said friend.) Most townsfolk married someone from their high school class, my parents being no exception. Some even had the same teachers or principals as me. The demographics of my version of small town America was composed mostly of what my teenage self would refer to as “hick rednecks'' and “military jackasses.” (I was mostly referring to the two sides of my family: dad’s side being hick rednecks and mom’s side being military jackasses.) Overall, my hometown was an interesting mix of people ranging from God-fearing Baptists and self-proclaimed “country bumpkins”. There were lots of speeches about hell and brimstone during my childhood.
I’m not sure how to sum up my experience growing up Chinese American. Up until I was an adult, I rarely bothered to share the truth about my adoption. Mostly due to feeling exhausted from having to repeat the same stories to people again and again:
“China had an overpopulation problem in the 1900s. As a knee jerk reaction, the deeply conventional and patriarchal government implemented the One Child Policy. Basically, if parents had more than one kid, they would be heavily taxed and ostracized. Now, if said second child was a girl, they’d be in some hot shit. In Chinese culture, usually it is the son that takes care of their elderly parents while the daughter is married off and becomes part of her new family of in-laws. Being born a girl was seen as an inconvenience as their culture historically coveted males. This often led to Chinese baby girls to be left for dead in trash cans, taken by the government, or even killed. Having a second daughter was seen as a betrayal to the Chinese regime and for some reason warranted infanticide. Well, I’m obviously a girl who survived what essentially was a mass slaughter. Probably the second born daughter which was extra hot shit for my biological parents. They wanted better for me (maybe), so I was put up for adoption. I hung out in a Chinese orphanage for about half a year until two random white people decided to adopt me. They brought me back to America, and the rest is history. No, I have no memories as I was a literal baby. No, I do not know who my birth parents are since adoption was conducted anonymously since putting a child up for adoption was also considered treason. And personally, just my opinion, it’s a little fucked that the government is slightly more approving of murdering babies for something completely out of their control instead of putting them up for adoption.” Or something along those lines…
I was adopted by my mom and dad, but primarily raised by a single mom for most of my childhood. I guess my peers just assumed when they saw my mom, that my dad happened to be Asian which is where I must have gotten my “exotic” genes. My childhood was also very abusive (from all sides of my family). Although I do have love for my family somewhere buried under the deep-seeded resentment, I no longer have a relationship with any of them besides of few of my distant cousins. This is mostly for my own safety/peace of mind because my relatives tend to influence me very negatively.
My earliest childhood memories involved a lot of weird and invasive questions I would hear from adults and peers alike regarding my ethnicity. Well that, and a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that I would later identify as “survivor’s guilt” as an adult. Logically speaking, I have no reason to feel guilty for being alive, but I do. It would occur any time some adult friend of my parents would gush about how “lucky” I was to be adopted. I suppose luck had some part in my survival, but I didn’t expect people to be tone deaf enough to tell that to a little kid already struggling to come to grips with her cultural identity.
The snarky part of my brain would parody their comments:
“Oh, how these two altruistic white saviors decided to welcome a child as their own despite having no blood ties whatsoever.” Which, in part, is true. My parents did a very selfless thing. They were not able to conceive a baby of their own and they chose me out of the millions of parentless babies in the world. I think the damaging part is the underlying implications about how these nice people could have had any child and yet they settled for a baby no one wanted. My family would refer to my miracle of survival as “God’s plan.” They would talk about how God perfectly orchestrated my early life tragedies so I could be rescued from an awful life with those “evil communists.” I have nothing personal against religion nor people who truly believe in the G man upstairs. My beef comes from how this perspective is very centered on the adopters instead of the adoptees. Yes, it is BOTH our stories, but I often feel like adoptees' voices and feelings of uncertainty are often drowned out by a chorus of “you’re so lucky” and “why do you feel like that? You’re so ungrateful.” Also, I was a healthy baby girl born with no neurological or physical deficiencies. I definitely had much better odds than other babies at being adopted during the One Child Reign. Hearing these implications from people who do not understand nor want to understand the complexity of the adoptee’s experience fed into my survivor guilt and feelings of inadequacy. The adoption progress does involve a loss for the adoptee: a loss of culture, identity, and familial ties. I feel like adoption, specifically international adoption, is highly idealized and romanticized. Although I never told my mom, there was a part of me deep down that felt like a second-rate baby. Mostly because I knew how it would make her sad to know that somewhere in my little kid brain, I didn’t think that I would truly be wanted if my mom’s fertility situation went differently.
I would often describe the state of Texas as “that really annoying, overly-friendly hick cousin that comes to every holiday and gets completely sloshed out of their mind and drunkenly brags about their mediocre accomplishments” to people who would ask me to describe Texas. But for all the Texan pride and arrogance about our current Lone Star State, I suppose I could see its appeal. Living in rural Texas is a familiar, humble, and stable experience. My hometown was relatively safe. I could walk to my childhood friends’ houses after school just a few blocks away from my own house without much fear. Most people waved and smiled at each other in passing. (Looking back through adult lenses, I’m not sure how much of it was genuine.) Most townsfolk could fill their relatively uneventful lives with the downtown gossip of families going through some type of soap opera behind closed doors. And despite living in a small town, the schools were large enough to where we could participate in varsity sports seasonally. The rare minority of people who actually did have the courage to leave eventually moved back to start a family because “there’s no place like good ole home!”
The monotony is what partially induced my pubescent angst and desire to someday escape the only place I’ve ever known. That, and the fact that the things you could do for entertainment in small town USA was close to none. The drawback of only living in one town your entire life is limited world experiences. The safety net of someone’s childhood confinements has the potential to induce complacency confused with comfort. How could you ever expand your worldview when you’re hanging out with the same people with the same ideals again and again?
The Asian population in my hometown was close to nonexistent as well. In my high school graduating class, there was one other Asian kid that attended school as me. When my school’s standardized testing scores would be released, the performance metrics were broken down by how well each ethnic group of students did. Since there were only two Asian kids in my grade level, it would be pretty obvious if one of us failed. (Luckily, neither one of us did.) And of course, my peers encouraged both of us to date since “we’d be, like, SO perfect for each other! We’d get married and have little genius Asian babies!”
The feeling of being “othered” or “different” had always been present throughout my childhood. As a kid, the complexity of prejudices eluded me in my naivety, but the uncomfortable feeling of my peers hyperfocusing on my almond-shaped eyes, my flat nose, my stick straight black hair, and any other features felt like they were screaming, “ASIAN!” very loudly. A part of me felt some sort of unspoken alliance between me and my Hispanic friends. It was as if to some degree, they understood what it was like to have your whole personhood categorized by the color of your skin. Sadly, a large portion of my family was uncomfortable with the presence of anyone of Hispanic descent, and I'd often be forced to come up with excuses for my friends of color to not come over in fear of my traditionally southern family making an off-the-cuff comment about how "Mexicans are dirty, poor, and thuggy criminals." Their political diatribes, usually involving immigration, were the popular conversation starters during family get-togethers. My family was very much the type of people that would preach out being a good, godly man/woman while snickering about non-White people's "oddities." Talking about how Jesus loves all and then whispers sanctimoniously about a low-income Hispanic family on the opposite side of the room.
"Oh, GOD BLESS their hearts!"
I doubt those families needed my family's pity.
My mom's sister once texted me after I returned a stray dog to their rightful owner,
"I need to know their race so I can determine their education levels. If they're Mexican, it makes sense why they didn't pay you for rescuing their dog. Mexicans are always looking for the cheap way out."
They were Hispanic, and they were very thankful for the return of their dog. I didn't understand why a decent deed automatically required me to be compensated nor how their racial background tied into their obligation to compensate me.
I snarky replied, "What does their ethnic background have anything to do with how they should act?"
To which she responded, "Calm down. I can practically hear you getting huffy with me from your text. Don't get mad at me! I told you that those Mexicans are always coming to our country and expecting us to learn THEIR language while they refuse to learn English! Plus, when you're my age and all your tax dollars go into keeping lazy illegals afloat, you'll understand why I'm not willing to let some freeloading Mexicans take advantage of my niece."
I no longer talk to that aunt.
My dad's (now current) wife also got very sloshed at the last Christmas event I attended and ranted very loudly about how "the Bible said that evil yellow people like (me) would bring the end of the world and second coming of Jesus to end our sinful tyranny" in front of my entire family with my dad awkwardly ignoring her xenophobic remarks.
It also did not help that in elementary school, some of my classmates would see me and bow to me while one boy would pretend to bang a gong as soon as I entered the classroom and snicker while singing, “CHING, CHONG, CHINKY!” Or how during snack breaks, my peers would pop up to ask me questions like, “do you know karate,” or, “can you speak Chinese to me, " or “ew, don’t tell me you’re gonna eat my dog. He’s a really cute puppy!”
As evasive and uncomfortable these comments could get, I felt like they were fairly innocuous and were asked out of a mix of childhood ignorance and genuine curiosity. I think the part that bothered me the most was having some of my classmates point out how “weird” my eyes looked while placing their fingers at the corners of their eyes and stretching them outwards and loudly proclaiming, “LOOK, NOW I’M CHINESE TOO!!! I LOOK JUST LIKE YOU!” But the absolute worst feeling would be when someone would mention how I look nothing like my very obviously white mom or dad.
“How could they be your parents when you don’t even look like them?”
To which I had a carefully crafted answer my mom would help me rehearse beforehand: “Oh, yeah, I’m adopted from China. Not all families look the same.”
And the retort back would usually be, “Do you miss your real parents?”
Do I?
I ponder that question to this day.
It feels uncomfortable to have people refer to my sperm and egg donors as my “real parents.” My adoptive parents felt very real to me because they were all I knew.
I don’t think I fit the concept of the model minority. I did not come out of the womb as one of those “wiz kids” playing the piano like Mozart, doing linear algebra before I was verbal, and eating dogs for breakfast. My experience as being an Asian American and labeled as the “good minority” has been a weird space to be in. As much as I partially appreciated being known as the “successful, smart, culturally assimilated” race of people, a part of me felt bitter at the notion that all my successes in life might be attributed to my ethnicity. When I would express my discontent with these labels, I would often get reprimanded as ungrateful.
“Don’t you want to be smart?”
“What’s so bad about being Asian? It’s a compliment!”
“Are you embarrassed to be Asian?”
“And you’re basically guaranteed a spot in medical school to become a doctor.”
“The guys are obsessed with you because of your exotic genes!”
(Pro tip for anyone, but especially for my fellow marginalized members: if someone calls you “exotic,” run.)
The answers to these questions usually go, “yes, nothing, no, what, and ew.”
Yes, I do want to be smart. I hope that my cognitive abilities will help me contribute something positive to society one day.
Nothing is wrong with being Asian or whatever you are. It just feels very uncomfortable to hear about an entire group of people as if they’re all the same.
No. I have never and will never be embarrassed of what I am.
What? Why do you assume I automatically want to become a doctor?
Ew, exotic? I don’t even want to reply to that comment.
I wish that I had the vocabulary at the time to respond like that. Instead, I would awkwardly laugh at their comment and say something along the lines of, “haaaa, I don’t know any other Asians. If you run into them, you’ll have to ask them.”
When you would hear about brilliant minds in history such as Albert Einstein or Stephen Hawking, most wouldn't say, “Oh well, it’s because they’re white. All those white genetics are what keep them so hard-working and successful.” Instead, as a demographic that is adequately represented in society, Einstein and Hawking and so many other white men had their accomplishments acknowledged as their own individualistic brilliance. An experience I so desperately wanted. So what if I was good or bad at math? I want to be called smart because I am smart. Not because I have some God-given wiz genes that have prophesied my successes from my first primordial cell. Or what if I was terrible at math? I don’t want to be labeled as a “bad” or “fake” Asian. I don’t want to be categorized as one of those “innocent, submissive Asian girls that would make a proper wife one day.” I just want to exist in my own space as my own person. Whoever I ended up becoming.
(Does anyone have negative experiences from adoption? I would love to know because the rare fellow adoptees I have met have very different (positive) experiences than myself.)
submitted by Physical-Egg-666 to Adoption [link] [comments]